


the never-ending tie break

by roommate



Series: shadow doubles [5]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roommate/pseuds/roommate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Yixing four countries, several matches, and two weeks to realize that the match with Lu Han has and will always be a losing battle. (<b>Warning/s:</b> just a bit of public sex | Written for the second round of <a href="http://justgetlayd.livejournal.com/41924.html">justgetlayd</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

[ **shanghai** ]

 

Yixing doesn't call it a reunion. It's more of coming face-to-face with your fears or any resemblance of it. Lu Han emerges from the doors and steps inside the room with a quiet kind of confidence in his stride and Yixing resist the urge to stare. There's nothing wrong with it – he's seen this before, has woken up to it, slept to the nagging memory of it, played alongside it. He's spent years memorizing it, the same stretch of the body and the way Lu Han tilts his chin up, tilts his head just so. "It's my 'I'm not trying to be cocky but _I'm just saying_ ' look," Yixing remembers Lu Han saying before, after winning their last match against Anyang as seniors. They'd approached the net then, and Lu Han looked like some douchebag rubbing in defeat in the face of their opponents. So really, the light punch to the cheek after the handshake was called for. If back then Yixing was anything like the person he was now, he would've punched Lu Han square on the nose. No regrets.

But that's the thing – he was young and didn't know better. He only knew the shape of Lu Han's body, the way Lu Han moved on court, Lu Han's ugly smile. Being teammates and, sometimes, doubles partners, automatically makes you each other's groupie. So he cupped Lu Han's bruised cheek then, gave it a light squeeze and said, "You're so stupid."

"You look stupid," Yixing says, more like declares when their eyes meet.

"Thanks. So do you," Lu Han replies. He grips the edge of the seat tight, tapping the backrest as he asks, "This seat isn't taken, right?"

Yixing looks up, blinks for a while before answering. "You're playing under China?"

"Problem?"

Yixing shrugs. It isn't, really – he's just used to Lu Han participating in the Tokyo Masters, even promoting it within the tennis association, that sometimes he thinks Lu Han's part Japanese already. Lu Han has made several appearances in ATP tours – Indian Wells, Cincinnati, Basel, Dubai – but never in the Shanghai and Seoul Masters. It's almost as if he's purposely avoiding home or anything close to it. He had several opportunities to earn big points in those two tournaments, push his ranking up and narrow the fifteen-point ranking difference between him and Yixing, but he has always blamed the weather. Bullshit, Yixing thinks. Lu Han's the last person to complain about weather conditions during matches.

Yixing pulls the seat back, jams one leg of the chair into Lu Han's foot. Lu Han's scowls. "No, not at all."

Lu Han gives him a wry smile before taking a seat and drums his fingers on the table. His eyes wander. There's a glimmer in his eyes when he spots Andre Agassi across the table. He even giggles. Yixing rolls his eyes and whispers, "Better live with it, kid. The master's on our team."

Lu Han's eyes widen. "You are _not_ fucking around with me."

Yixing turns to face Lu Han and bites his lower lip, as if considering to say something. Lu Han cocks one eyebrow, challenging. After a while, Yixing answers, "And then there's Michael Chang and Stan Wawrinka–"

It's been years since they've last seen each other. Four, the last time Yixing counted. He stopped keeping track after Lu Han took an injury to the knee and dropped out of all the grand slams. Lu Han had surgery, made a statement saying he probably wasn't going to return for another year _just to be sure._ It was as if two years of being apart before that wasn't big enough a wound that life just had to add salt to it. Lu Han was two years behind Yixing in the pro-tennis scene, after dropping all of his tennis dreams to take over the family business until it drove him crazy. Lu Han hadn't called, hadn't sent a text, hadn't even said anything on Weibo or whatever piece of technology the young ones were using now. It was as if Yixing was part of the whole tennis deal, six games to make a set, three sets to win a match.

He hadn't dropped Lu Han, but the did immerse himself in more matches, gave tennis training to kids aspiring to be the next Zhang Yixing and made tennis the next big hit in China. Soon, Lu Han was no more than a shadow of his game – always there, following him around, but not quite the warm presence that he needs.

"Did you seriously think I'll team up with Japan for this?" Lu Han asks now, voice lilting. He's leaning back against the chair, head thrown back a little. His neck is exposed, and he's got a cheeky smile on his lips. This is the one that got them in trouble too many times in high school, and got them out of it. "Because you know I wouldn't give up China for anything, right?"

Yixing taps his bottom lip a few times, then says, "Do I?"

Lu Han bolts up at the question, spine snapping up straight. Years ago, Lu Han probably would have laughed it off, dismissed the question like it was nothing because it wasn't supposed to mean anything. But they're not kids anymore. They're adults, professional tennis players representing China in the Asian Premiere Tennis League. There's the weight of responsibility on their shoulders to act their age and act like respectable players. And there's media all around them, zoom lenses set to capture the slightest curve of the lip, the cock of an eyebrow. Lu Han reaches for a glass of water, the one on Yixing's side, and Yixing follows the path Lu Han's hand takes. A pause, then Lu Han's tapping the rim of the wine glass, lips pursed in question. His other hand has found its way to Yixing's thigh, a warm and heavy press on his black slacks. The material scratches against his skin. "Is this yours or is it mine?"

If you consider proximity, it's Yixing's. It's a good two inches away from the tips of his fingers, after all, before Lu Han leaned forward. But then Lu Has never been good at approximating distances, always braving someone else's personal space. The only distances Lu Han knows by heart are his body from the service box on the other end of the court. The equal distance between two players when playing doubles. Three long feet between them when they do the Australian formation. The lack of breathing space when they win the match and the first thing they do is to fall into each other's arms.

"We could share," Yixing says, as if an afterthought. He casts a glance at Lu Han's hand on his knee, then asks, "How's your knee, by the way?"

Lu Han stops for a while, thumb pausing mid-rub to press hard on the bone. A traitorous cold creeps up Lu Han's fingers, tickles Yixing through the press of Lu Han's hand on his skin. Lu Han just stares at him – in the eye at first, then his gaze travels south, down the bridge of Yixing's nose then settling on Yixing's top lip. He swallows on nothing. His other hand wraps around the glass. "Good as new."

"Good," Yixing says, then shifts so he's facing front. Lu Han drops his hand to his side as if on reflex, then downs the water in a few gulps. Later, during the briefing for the tournament, Yixing feels an odd warmth sliding up his thigh, something heavy on his shoulder. When he sees Lu Han's 'sleepy as fuck' face, he doesn't think of shrugging Lu Han off. With a deep breath, he lays his palm flat on Lu Han's own. Lu Han's body gives a tiny jerk. He doesn't pull away.

 

 

They're only given two days to practice for the tournament. It's more than enough time to adjust to playing conditions in Shanghai – Yixing trains in Korea half the time, after all, to keep his family close. He runs into familiar faces in the training courts – Kibum and Minho from the high school team, both playing for Korea, Byun and Do from a couple of tournaments back in the official ATP tour, the best doubles team Asia has seen in ages. Zitao walks up to Yixing from behind, snatching him away from the other two, and Yixing doesn't even fight the force for fear of hitting Zitao too hard at an early hour.

"Glad you could make it," Yixing says, grinning. He reaches out, fluffing Zitao's hair. The stretch is difficult – Zitao has grown a few good centimeters from when they'd last seen each other in Rotterdam. They were on opposite sides of the draw then, and Zitao made a fourth round exit after going against Milos Raonic. Zitao hasn't changed much from when they were in the same team, though, back in high school. He still fashions the same scary face when he's on court, but gets giggly when he meets big shot tennis stars at the net. It's as if he's in perpetual disbelief that he's here, he's made it to the top 20, he's rooming with Michael Chang who keeps calling him his son or something.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, ge," Zitao answers, earnest. His grin stretches the corners of his mouth, wild and childlike. "Jet lag's a bitch, though."

"Spent an entire year in the U.S. and the first thing you say when you return to your motherland is _jet lag's a bitch._ " Yixing cackles, and Zitao only narrows his eyes at him. "How's your new coach?"

Zitao's eyes widen, gulps hard around nothing in particular. There have been news on Zitao getting a bit too chummy with his new coach – Victoria, was that her name? – but nothing's new about Zitao slinging an arm around a girl of getting friendlier than the usual with someone. Zitao _is_ friendly, despite the cold front he strives to project. _It's to keep people from exploiting his kind and tender heart,_ Yixing remembers Lu Han saying one time. Zitao had elbowed both of them in the gut and said, _Now you've hurt my kind and tender heart. Friendship over._ It seemed too easy to win friendship back then – a plate of tteokbokki after and Zitao was cackling with them again. Good times, back in the day when everything was easy.

"She's nice," Zitao answers after a while. He spins his racket by the throat, nearly missing the third spin. He ends up with the grip of his racket bumping against his knee. "And pretty. And really, really patient."

"And that's the most important thing," comes a familiar voice from behind. Yixing notices the quick change from surprise to happiness to mock annoyance on Zitao's features. Zitao keeps the last one for show, lips turned down in a scowl. "Because our Taozi asks too many questions because he hates getting shots wrong, hmm?"

Lu Han fits himself between the two, hair looking like he's just risen from bed and slapped on tennis uniform as quickly possible. Close enough, Yixing muses – Lu Han missed the 7 a.m. call time for breakfast. He'd bumped into Joonmyun at the buffet table but Joonmyun was in a rush, saying he had to pick up Minseok from the airport. So he sat in the team table, missing two familiar bodies beside him. Agassi was kind enough to indulge him in a conversation though, asking about what Shanghai had to offer. Somewhere along the way, he'd graduated from teammate to friend in Wawrinka's eyes. Lu Han was going to hate him for it – Stan has always been one of his favorites.

"And I missed you, too, ge," Zitao says now, drawling his syllables like it's taking too much effort to talk to Lu Han. A grin breaks across Lu Han's features, and the next thing Yixing knows Lu Han's got Zitao in a headlock, nose buried in Zitao's hair. Some things never change, he thinks – there's still an ounce of familiarity in this despite not having seen Lu Han in years. They're like tennis balls always meant to fit in the container – three balls a tube. Yixing, Lu Han, and Zitao, the pride of China and the representatives of the country for the APTL.

"Managed to catch breakfast?" Yixing asks when Lu Han pulls away.

Lu Han shrugs. "I'm on a diet."

"They were serving Spanish omelette." Yixing exhales loudly. Beside him, Zitao groans even if he hadn't had the chance to pass by the buffet area.

Lu Han knits his eyebrows at them, considering. Zitao loses it first, cackling, and Lu Han catches on all too quickly, jabbing him on the arm. Zitao drops his racket to the ground in the midst of the chaos, and from a few courts away Yixing hears Kibum's call of _racket abuse!_ Lu Han is undaunted, only pausing to stick up his middle finger at Kibum and a now-cackling Minho. Wawrinka walks in with Federer and Lu Han pulls away in a flash, but Zitao hasn't stopped cackling.

"You two!" Lu Han points an accusing finger at them. He's laughing, though.

Yixing doesn't even bother to hide his grin. His racket falls to the ground when his grip loosens.

Agassi hands out match assignments after warm ups. Chang and Zitao are in doubles two, while Wawrinka and Del Potro are in doubles one. "Yixing, take singles one. I'm good but I'm hella old," he says, and Yixing only nods in an effort to keep himself from laughing. Chang and Del Potro are having a hard time keeping it together, but Agassi only waves them off, proceeds to handing out the remaining assignments. Yixing only bites the inside of his cheek and nods at Agassi's words. He won't screw up the one opportunity to actually get close to his tennis idol just by laughing his ass off because he agrees that he's 'hella old'.

"And Han's taking singles three," Agassi announces, then, after saying he'll take singles two.

Lu Han takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes, pointedly avoiding Agassi's gaze. Yixing looks to his side and snorts. He knows this look well, and he sees the statement from a mile away – _Please don't laugh at me if I screw up, please don't expect too much–_

"If I screw up singles three, you're to blame." Close enough, Yixing thinks. "You trust me that much? I mean, it's a deciding match–"

"Every match is a deciding match," Agassi answers. To the others, he says, "Okay, run along now. We're doing doubles against doubles. Han against Yixing. I can sub for one of you if you ever tire out."

Yixing looks over his shoulder, eyebrows cocked, and Agassi only says, "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm old."

Years after and it still feels weird, rubbing elbows with tennis greats. He hasn't quite earned the title yet, but at number five seed you're expected to be accustomed to this already. Fame, fortune, endorsements left and right, interviews – Yixing's gotten good at dealing with those already, but from time to time he'd sit back and think, _wow, this is actually happening._ Agassi calling them out on bad shots, Nadal and Federer playing a few courts away. Sampras giving him a casual wave when they pass each other by.

"Am I the only one who feels like this is a dream?" Lu Han asks in confidence after a while, when they're taking the balls out of the container.

Yixing looks at Lu Han, _really_ looks at him like he's seeing Lu Han up close for the very first time. Lu Han _has_ changed – there's none of the cheeky tilt of the head or the cock of the eyebrow or the half scowl, but instead Yixing sees the lines of uncertainty on Lu Han's forehead, at the corners of his eyes, the tight press of his lips. Without the right court lights, Lu Han looks nothing like the hot shot trainer that he is, just a little kid marveling at the tennis legends in front of him and hoping he'd be like them. It's as if the two-year back has reduced him to this – young Lu Han who had lined up with Yixing during the Whimoon tennis club try-outs.

So Yixing does him a favor, slips back into his old self and forgets for a second that they're close to hitting quarter life crisis. "Not at all," he says, heaving a sigh when he sees Federer do a tweener. Lu Han chuckles but gapes at the play, nonetheless. "Sometimes I wonder if all of this is real."

"You shouldn't," Lu Han says. He rests a hand on Yixing's shoulder, heavy and warm. "You're getting chummy with Agassi and Chang thinks you're really nice." A smile lights the corners of Lu Han's lips, and then he pinches Yixing in his side. "So yeah, don't doubt a thing about it. You weren't the one who was out for two entire seasons."

Yixing tilts his head, getting a better view of Lu Han's features. It's back – the old Lu Han he'd lost to so many times already, the one who walked in the meeting room the night before, not the one who got his foot jammed into a chair leg. He reaches out, meaning to jab Lu Han, but all he manages to punch is empty space and a sliver of Lu Han's laughter. "You have two weeks to make a comeback," Yixing says, then. "Make it matter."

Lu Han's features light up, a grin tugging hard at the corners of his lips. His eyes are sparkling. He's aglow. Maybe Lu Han doesn't need the whole two weeks to narrow the two-year gap into thin air – maybe he just needs this one practice match to make a huge comeback.

"Don't be easy on me," Lu Han says, then takes his place on the other side of the court. Yixing snorts.

"I won't let you down."

 

 

Zitao asks for Lu Han's room. More like, Zitao kicks Lu Han out of his room and tells Lu Han to sleep in Yixing's hotel room, instead. "I like my privacy," Zitao reasons when Lu Han asks, and Lu Han only rolls his eyes in retaliation. Lu Han hadn't put up much of a fight, just made a show of shoving his things inside his luggage and dragging them across the floor, to Yixing's room. Yixing's torn between thanking Zitao and wrestling him the next time they see each other. Alternatively, he can just beat Zitao's sorry ass to the pulp in tomorrow's session.

"Sorry if our baby's being prissy," Lu Han says later, once he's already fully moved into Yixing's room. Not that Lu Han had a lot of his things lying around before he left his own room – only his toiletries were outside the luggage. Everything else was inside, like he was prepared to leave at the first sign of danger. "I mean, I've got to be the best roommate ever, right? Remember..." Lu Han worries his bottom lip, then continues, "Our match against Woonam in Daegu? When the three of us were roommates and I so graciously offered him my bed?"

_Because you wanted to sleep in mine, anyway, and because we spent half the night making out in the bus,_ Yixing wants to say. Not the best idea when Lu Han's lying on his stomach and his threadbare shirt's draped along the slope of his back so nicely. "You snore and you sleep talk, you know," Yixing says. Lu Han makes this weird face that makes him look amused more than affronted. "And you're too lazy to freshen up after the evening session. You stink."

Lu Han looks up at him, wiggling his eyebrows. Yixing gulps hard. Lu Han has his fingers dancing on Yixing's thigh, creeping up until Lu Han's just a few inches shy of Yixing's pelvis. "Evening session?"

"Playing. On court," Yixing clarifies. Lu Han is unfazed, palm pressing down hard on his thigh. "With tennis balls."

Lu Han pushes himself up, sits on his legs so that they're at eye level. There are battle scars of the two years of inactivity scrawled on Lu Han's face – dark circles under his eyes, a pimple on his cheek. A sheen of sweat along the curve of his cheek. Lu Han has slowed down considerably on court, but that doesn't mean he isn't any good. He hasn't quite lost his charm either, leaning closer now. Yixing knows this too well, the part where Lu Han hovers until Yixing says 'yes', until Yixing closes his eyes and parts his lips.

Their foreheads bump. Lu Han's pimple glares at him. Lu Han smells of soap and apple shampoo and something else he can't place. Lu Han doesn't stink at all.

"I'm sorry," Lu Han whispers. Yixing tries to look up, but Lu Han's lips are a force keeping him from looking at anything else. "I'm sorry for disappearing when you went pro. I'm sorry for just disappearing on you–"

"The team. Our friends," Yixing supplies. Lu Han laughs a little.

"Them, too," Lu Han continues. His lips are more relaxed now, tugging up at the corners. "And I'm sorry for not attempting to reconnect. I mean... I went pro and you were already this hot shot player and–" Lu Han worries his bottom lip. "D'you know how hard that is, chasing after someone? Keeping up?"

Yixing thinks of high school, thinks of Lu Han saying _you're the closest I can get to home,_ thinks of the struggle to keep up with Lu Han's insane need for competition. He thinks of nights walking in on Lu Han and Zitao in the locker rooms, rubbing up against each other, thinks of the dull ache in his chest that wills to fade in the showers.

"Yeah, sure I do," he whispers. Lu Han tilts his head, moves even closer. Their lips brush. "You've always been the faster runner between the two of us, I mean–"

Lu Han presses close, catches Yixing's bottom lip between his own. He stills for a moment, then, "Let's start over?"

_You're crazy,_ Yixing wants to say, but it's late at night and they have an early schedule tomorrow and they should be sleeping now. They shouldn't be dancing in bed, dancing around, continuing a match that has been put on hold for so long. Yixing isn't even sure who's leading anymore, or if this was even a match to begin with. Lu Han has always had the upper hand with his tricky shots and misbehaving hands. Yixing's always been patient enough to wait for the one big opening he can capitalize on to bring Lu Han down.

He's waited long enough, though, and he can see the inevitable coming from a mile away – Lu Han gravitating back to Yixing, Yixing pulling him in with arms half open. Lu Han coaxing a sound of approval out of him by hook or by crook. The endless mind game restarting at the back of Yixing's mind and Yixing trying to stay in the game with his forehand. Lu Han returning every shot, this time with more spin.

He takes a deep breath, gulps hard. It's worth a shot.

He worries his bottom lip then says, "Hi, I'm Zhang Yixing." Lu Han shifts in his position, pushes him further back until Yixing's backed against the headboard. "And I'd be glad to be part of your team."

"That's not what you said," Lu Han mumbles, half snorting and half laughing, but Yixing's tilting his head back, parting his lips, snaking his arms around Lu Han's waist to pull him closer. This is the tiebreaker, and he should know better than to invest in a tiebreak victory, but he gives it a shot anyway. The reward is in the risk, after all, in the way he opens up even more when Lu Han licks the seam of his lips, in the way he slips his hands under Lu Han's shirt. Lu Han shivers, skin feverish beneath Yixing's cold fingers, and he drops his racket, stops keeping track of the score, leaves the game to luck. In the morning, they can work on their ground strokes. They can put their game face on when the sun rises.

Tonight, Yixing thinks as Lu Han pulls away, smile bright and blinding in Shanghai's night lights, they play a game filled with deuce and advantage. They've always been good with five-setters, after all.

 

 

Team China's up against Japan today. There are familiar faces on the other side of the court – Japan's Nishikori and their very own Minseok. Zitao lingers at the net longer than the usual, chatting with Minseok a little. The umpire hasn't done the coin toss yet, anyway. They have a bit of time to waste.

Lu Han slides next to Yixing and sits on his legs. He chews on air, yawns, then leans on Yixing's shoulder. Yixing only throws him a casual glance, quick enough to go unnoticed, but Lu Han latches onto it, holds Yixing's gaze right _there._ "He's gonna kill it," Lu Han comments, nodding in Zitao's direction. He has that game face on again, the one that makes him look 90% tennis assassin and 10% actual human being. "I've been watching his games the whole time, when I was in rehab. Those groundstrokes are getting better."

"Threatened?" Yixing asks, voice dropping to a whisper. He scoots closer, transferring weight to his left arm, and Lu Han leans back almost like an afterthought. Lu Han used to do this all the time, even after matches when Yixing's arms already felt like jelly. _Your arms are as strong as a rod,_ Lu Han always said then, and Yixing would only say, _but rods can be bent?_ He'd let Lu Han have his way, though, until Lu Han relented and he was the one leaning on Lu Han's shoulder. Fair enough a trade.

Lu Han elbows Yixing in his side. Not fair at all. "Not by Zitao," Lu Han says after a while. Silence, and then, "Damn, that grip's gonna cost him games. He _never_ listens."

For a person who has stayed away from his friends for a long time, Lu Han sure has kept up with them, has made sure to remember all the knick knacks about the people in the team. Zitao's blister and back injuries haven't been on broadcast in the past year, so this is all from memory. Even this – the way Lu Han moves closer until their sides are pressed, the fit of their bodies warm. "Who's his trainer again? She was an ex-tennis player right?" Lu Han asks now. Yixing leans his head back on Lu Han's shoulder. He can fall asleep like this. "Was she the girl he was banging on the regular?"

"Don't let him hear you say that," Yixing says, chuckling. "I think he's in love with her."

"Taozi falling in love with someone other than himself?" Lu Han gasps, eyes wide in mock surprise. Yixing capitalizes on the opening, and pinches Lu Han in the side. "That's unheard of!"

Not true – at one point in time, Yixing thinks Zitao could have been on the road to falling in love with Lu Han. That was their first year in the tennis club, a few fucks after. Lu Han had twisted his ankle and Yixing came to his side at in a flash, helping him get to the benches. Zitao looked up and locked eyes with Yixing. His eyes were wide and heavy with _something_ Yixing rarely saw in Zitao. Anger? Fear? Some irrational emotion? He wasn't sure. All he knew that time was that Zitao rarely fashioned this look, like he was both ready to jump off the cliff and go after the person in need of saving but, at the same time, really wasn't because he wasn't sure if he wanted to fall just yet. Zitao kept asking Yixing then, _how's ge? Is he alright? When can I kick him in the balls?_ All bark, no bite. At best, Zitao could only do baby nips on Lu Han's skin; at worst, he could go with a kiss.

"He took her to his hometown, introduced her to his parents." Yixing shifts in his position and Lu Han adjusts. The stretch in his torso is a bit weird, but Lu Han's side is warm. He's willing to make a sacrifice given Shanghai's dry and cold weather.

"As what? _Mama, she's the one I've been banging for a year now,_ like that?"

Yixing chuckles. Zitao's planning to propose to her. Yixing knows this because he helped pick out the ring, the place where Zitao will do the grand proposal. He's set to ask her after this tour, regardless whether or not China wins. Yixing had said, _keep me posted. Send pics!_ Zitao had replied, _What are you saying? You'll be there to witness everything, ge!_

He exhales loudly, shaking his head. "Well, our baby's all grown up."

Lu Han snorts. "Not my kid." He doesn't say, we can't have a baby. Yixing doesn't want to think too much of it – he has to concentrate on winning his singles match in two hours, if and when Lu Han screws up singles three.

Lu Han looks at him after a while, turning to his side. The curl of his lips is so close, and he only has to crane his neck to press a kiss to the corners. But there are too many people around them and they're at work. He's professional enough to push aside attempts at flirting with a teammate in the APTL. Lu Han doesn't seem to mind the standstill, too, just stays like that until the corners of his mouth tug up as a knee jerk response. Yixing hiccups, gasps when Lu Han leans closer. The cameras are all focused on the match – it's a good thing Zitao's flashy enough to draw all the attention to himself.

"What if I bring you with me when I visit mama in Korea? Last leg of the tour?" Lu Han asks.

Yixing's body gives a tiny jerk, and soon he's sitting up, spine snapping straight. He bumps his head into Lu Han's jaw on accident and Lu Han howls, massaging his jaw. "I was just asking!" Lu Han exclaims, but makes sure to keep his voice faint enough for fear of being called out by the chair umpire. That'll be a point against Team China and really, Lu Han doesn't want to go down like this. None of them do. Lu Han's rests his hand on Yixing's thigh, though, like it's meant to be there.

From a corner of Yixing's eye, he can make out Agassi's stare, and he holds it, deliberate. Agassi gives him a curt nod as if saying, _fix this,_ and he returns it in kind. "Don't make promises you can't keep," he whispers in Lu Han's ear, and Lu Han resurfaces, grumbling dropping to a whisper.

"It's not a promise," Lu Han says. "It's a goal."

Yixing blinks a few times, until he hears the crowd roaring in the background. Too fast – they're at set point now, a comfortable 0-40 lead at the break of serve. It will be a nice, sweet victory if China clinches this first set win, and Zitao will be the noisiest companion ever, and he'll have to sit through hours upon hours of Zitao raving about their great match. Lu Han touches him – a warm, light press of the hand on the shoulder – and the noise drops to silence. There's nothing but Lu Han's steady breathing, the loud thumping in his chest. The bouncing of the ball off the court before Team Japan's Minho serves to stay in the first set.

"Take the point with a nice, clean ace," he says, then, and turns his attention to the game unfolding in front of him. Lu Han stares a little longer, then does the same, knees drawn close to each other as they watch Chang and Zitao. Somewhere along the way, Lu Han's hand finds itself resting atop Yixing's own, and Yixing doesn't bother to brush it off. This is ball setting for the perfect serve, and Lu Han is all about making every shot perfect.

 

 

The biggest shock of the century is when Nadal and Gasquet go up against Wawrinka and Del Potro in doubles one. The loss is inevitable – while Wawrinka's a great tennis player, Del Potro isn't exactly the easiest player to get in sync with within a short span of two days. "The height difference is biting us in the ass," Lu Han whispers. His hands are clenched into fists, and his lips are drawn to a straight line. Add the signature cock of the head and there's the same Lu Han who Yixing has come to grow accustomed to. None of that, though – Lu Han's eyebrows are drawn to a tight knot, and he only parts his lips to bite on his bottom lip.

Yixing slaps his hand away, reaches up to ease the furrow of his eyebrows. "We still have singles three in case they lose," Yixing whispers as if it's the best way to calm Lu Han's nerves. He knows it isn't, but later Lu Han will thank him after he wins. That's how Lu Han operates – scare him into taking on a challenge and he'll slink back in retaliation. Then muscle memory will kick in and force him to fight back, take the challenge head-on. "Easy 6-4, what do you say?" Yixing continues, making sure to keep his tone light, and Lu Han only responds with a nudge to the elbow, a deeper frown.

"I'll fuck this up."

"Of course, you will," Yixing offers. He makes a light jab at Lu Han's cheek. "Only at first, because you love fighting back from a set down. Not sure if Agassi will be happy with that, though."

Lu Han chuckles. "Gotta make daddy proud."

"Nah," Yixing whispers. He gives Yixing's hand a light squeeze, then says, "You just have to stop second-guessing yourself."

It's a bit disconcerting seeing Lu Han like this – nervous, scared to take the opening serve, afraid to swing his racket – but that's how he plays. Lu Han shows all of his ugly sides, flashes all ten thousand of his teeth before showing his pretty smile, fucks up so that he can stand back up and regain his former glory. He loves theatrics and dramatics, that asshole. The first time he fucked up big time was during a big match against Daehyun. Joonmyun was close to tearing his hair out and Lu Han was down 4-0 on Daehyun's serve. _Get yourself together,_ Yixing had mouthed then. He wasn't sure if Lu Han got the message but it sure seemed like it, because after that Lu Han went for a break of serve then proceeded to win the next six games. Game, set, and match – Whimoon, 6-4 after that. Joonmyun shook Lu Han by the shoulders and Minseok gave him a really tight hug. Zitao cupped his cheeks and said something that sounded like _fuck you, that was scary as hell._ Lu Han kept his eyes on Yixing and said, _how did I do?_

"You'll do just fine," Yixing says now as Lu Han steps on court, the pressure of having to clinch the singles win greater than ever after their doubles one loss. A foot away, Agassi gives Wawrinka and Del Potro a hug. "Go, give daddy Agassi a big hug for good luck or something."

Lu Han looks at him, just looks at him, worrying his bottom lip. A sharp intake of breath, then, "What if I want something else for good luck?"

There's a twinkle in Lu Han's eyes, a promise that he really won't fuck up the match and that he'll try to get an easy victory over Japan. It must be the court lights, too bright and unflattering. He can see Lu Han's pimples and other bumps in perfect detail, but they don't take away the the bright sheen on his face. He's glowing.

"You'll get what you want after your match," Yixing promises. He slaps Lu Han's ass and Lu Han makes a low _oooh_. "Go, before I kick your ass too hard you won't be able to win for the team."

"I prefer a different kind of pain!" Lu Han hollers over his shoulder, and then he's passing Agassi for a quick hug. A few more seconds and he's on court, pulling his shoulders back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Yixing's vision isn't perfect, but he can see Lu Han looking over his shoulder, sending him a light wink. He shakes his head and just smiles for lack of anything to say. If there's anything that needs to be said, Lu Han already knows what Yixing means by the thumbs-up and the cock of the head. They haven't spent years training alongside each other for nothing.

The umpire asks for the entire stadium to fall silent, and the next Yixing hears is the soft bouncing of the ball on the court. Lu Han tosses the ball in the air. The fucker is smiling.

It's an ace down the line. Lu Han serves out the entire game with aces, giving China the first game, 1-0.

 

 

It's not a Lu Han match without a scare – Isner manages to get the break of serve at 3-3, then proceeds to take the next three games. Lu Han tips off the scale and starts to go for dangerous shots, lunging close to the net and missing the line of the court by a width of a hair with every shot. He rushes every service, and gets his first double-fault at the start of the second set.

"I can't watch this. Bathroom break," Agassi says into his hands. He manages to catch Lu Han's gaze before disappearing, though, waving his arms in the air and cheering, "Go, Lu!"

Yixing gives Lu Han a nod and mouths, _go kick some ass!_ but Lu Han seems to misunderstand, asking, _you're telling me to get some ass?_ So Yixing goes with a glare – this one's universal language for _I will kick your ass if you don't win._

Harmless threats are Lu Han's kind of danger. He starts adding more variety to his shots – the occasional kick serve for this first serve, a slice in the second. He aims topspin forehands between Isner's legs, making his opponent bend his knees all the more. If he can't win with power given the Isner's shots pack more punch, then he'll go with hard angles. He adds the drop to his roster of shots, as well, when Isner gives him a backhand after a long rally. Isner, with all fifty feet of his legs, manages to catch the ball in time, but he isn't prepared to cover the back of the court for Lu Han's return.

Too easy, Yixing thinks. A smile lights up Lu Han's features. He draws his right arm back, picks up the ball even before it touches the ground, and aims a topspin forehand to the back. It's too predictable a move that no one would even think Lu Han will use it in an APTL tour, much less against one of the top seeds. The ball bounces outside the court, and Isner's face falls forward as he shakes his head and laughs.

Lu Han's cracking his neck. Yixing leans closer. Full speed ahead for the former ace of Whimoon High. Lu Han finally rising from the ashes after a clean service game.

And then everything else is history – the groundstrokes from both parties are too good, but Lu Han capitalizes on the more difficult angles, deeper shots near the feet of the corners of the court. Isner delivers to the best of his ability, but then there's also age hindering him from behind his knees too much, from running around and catching balls to stay in the fourth set. After three grueling hours of tennis, Lu Han clinches the win with a 4-6 7-6(7) 7-5 6-4 victory. Agassi's first reaction is a squeal of delight and to take Zitao in his arms for a tight hug.

"All yours now, captain," Lu Han says when he passes by Agassi. Agassi gives him a pat on the back and takes his place on court to win the last victory for China.

"So, do I get my prize now?" Lu Han says when he takes a set beside Yixing. His skin is hot to touch and his hair sticks to his face. There's a thin sheen of sweat just under his eyes so Yixing reaches out, grimaces for show, and wipes it off. Lu Han's breath hitches at the contact. Yixing feels it in the tiny jerk of Lu Han's body, in the way Lu Han retreats his hands and tentatively reaches out again. "I'm not settling for that," Lu Han mumbles, then. His bottom lip is jutted out. His lips are red from the heat of the game and from being bitten too much, too hard.

"Exhibitionist," Yixing mutters, then gives Lu Han's cheek a light pinch. He lets his touch linger, draws a line along the curve of Lu Han's cheek with his thumb. His fingers trace the outline of his jaw until they settle just above the collarbones. "Unless you want to kiss your career goodbye, I'm not fucking you here."

"Oooh, feisty," Lu Han says in return, but the glow has waned. His shoulder slump forward and he inches away just a bit, a few spaces, enough for Yixing to feel the lacking warmth. So halfway through the match, when Agassi takes the fourth set from Sampras to push the match to a deciding fifth set, Yixing takes a leap of faith and leans in. The crowd around them is too preoccupied with the game, cheering and screaming their lungs out, and it's risky, but he parts his lips anyway, catches Lu Han's bottom lip and gives it a light suck. A quick kiss to the corners of Lu Han's lips, then the cheering dies down and Yixing pulls back, wiggles in his seat. His cheeks feel warm and numb. The pads of his fingers are sweat-stained.

Lu Han swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes still locked on Yixing's own. He moves closer, locking their ankles together. It's a weird display of _something_ they've yet to put a name to – friendship? Partnership? Team-fucking-work? It works, somehow, even with the hard scratch of the balls of Lu Han's ankles against Yixing's own.

"Is this the new hand-holding?" Yixing asks much later, when they have to stand and congratulate Agassi for the win. The captain calls everyone to the court – "Team picture!" Agassi says – and Lu Han lingers for a while. A light quirk of the lip, then Lu Han's untangling himself from the link, standing from the seat, collecting himself.

"It's our secret code," Lu Han whispers, looking over his shoulder. His cheeks are a light shade of pink. He's aglow again, like he's ready to take another singles match, ready to play a hundred more games. Yixing can stay and watch Lu Han play for years.

"A secret code," Yixing repeats. He bumps their ankles together as they walk down the bleachers. He presses close to Lu Han in the team picture, one arm around Lu Han's waist. He ignores Zitao's knowing look on the other side of the group and just smiles.

 

 

Lu Han takes the modern hand-holding to the next level and hooks their ankles under the dinner table. It starts out innocent at first – just the bumping of their bones, the slight brush of the skin – but after a few bottles of beer Lu Han gets daring and slides his hand up Yixing's thigh. Yixing has enough decency not to shriek in the middle of the celebration, and pins Lu Han's hot hand with the press of his own. He inches closer, their chairs now bumping. The smile on Lu Han's lips grows wider.

"Seriously? Right here? In front of everyone?"

"They're all drunk," Lu Han mumbles. He's isn't, not yet, but he's tipsy enough to give in to the allure of Yixing's shoulder. He rests his head there, tilts his head so that his lips are pressed against the underside of Yixing's jaw. Yixing's breath hitches. "So they won't notice."

"But the waiters might–" Yixing widens his eyes when Lu Han dips his hand between his legs, knuckles grazing his cock through his shorts. Fuck tennis attire for being so damn thin. He looks around him – Zitao's long gone, cheek pressed against the table. Meanwhile, Chang has his arms folded under his head. Agassi's still taking a few sips, but for the most part he's 99% red in the face and 1% too conscious of everything that's happening. Pointing at everything that moves, even the chimes swaying outside the glass doors. Wawrinka's at the other table, chatting up Federer. Isner's and Del Potro are talking about the latest release of Metal Gear Solid. _This_ is safe enough, as far as the state of their teammates' inebriation is concerned.

But then you have the CCTV, the curious eyes of the waiters. Hidden cameras of stalkers everywhere. Yixing still remembers that fan creeping to his hotel room during Indian Wells. He didn't want to throw her out but she stuck her lens close to Yixing's face. It had to be done.

"Lu Han..." he whispers now, face buried in his hands. Lu Han is still teasing, testing the waters, looking around them to double-check. Even the other teams already have casualties due to alcohol. Nobody's completely sober anymore. "Lu Han, you can't–"

Across the table, Zitao giggles. He's still asleep, though, if not drunk to the bones. Lu Han lifts his right hand, snakes it around Yixing's waist. Yixing groans at the loss of friction and Lu Han chuckles. "You've got to make up your mind."

Yixing takes a shaky breath, closes his eyes. He'll regret this in the morning, if pictures do get out. He's not sure if they can make it to their room without fucking in the elevator.

"Make it quick," he whispers. He can see the tiny smirk on Lu Han's lips as Lu Han snakes a hand under Yixing's shirt.

Lu Han doesn't plan to make it quick. He's always been a slow-starter, after all, determined to wear out his opponent during a match and then attacking. Lu Han flicks his thumb over Yixing's nipple and Yixing's breath hitches. Alcohol has made him more of a risk-taker, more pliant, _crazier._ He tucks his chin and puffs his chest out a little, hoping to feel more friction, but Lu Han doesn't press on. Instead, Lu Han splays his fingers on Yixing's skin, rubs circles on his nipple with his warm palm.

"Fucking–" Yixing's speech gets drowned out by the low chuckles in his ear, the cool sensation draping over his chest when Lu Han stops rubbing. "Fix that follow through, dammit," Yixing says through gritted teeth, but Lu Han in undeterred. He slides his hand down Yixing's chest, lingers on the dip of his torso.

"Have I been a bad student, teacher?" Lu Han slurs in Yixing's ear. Lu Han's breath is hot on his skin. His lips are wet and warm and willing. "Maybe you should punish me."

Lu Han plays with the band of Yixing's shorts. Yixing grunts, bucks his hips as he searches for a point of contact. Federer and Nadal stand from their seats and walk in their direction, but they're probably aiming for the buffet table. Lu Han withdraws his hand, yanks at his wrist instead. To the other players, he says, "Tummy ache." To Yixing, he whispers, "Okay, I'm not doing this in front of tennis legends."

"And now you have enough sense to–" Lu Han slides his hand down Yixing's back, cops a feel and gives one cheek a gentle squeeze. "Yeah. Groping. Completely safe."

"It's a bro thing. Tennis code for 'job well done'."

The stirring in his pants is becoming unbearable. Yixing lunges, reaching for the up button of the elevator. The doors slide open. One step inside, one step away from the crowd. The curl of Lu Han's lips is a force reeling Yixing in. "Are we talking about another job or–"

For all of Lu Han's being reckless back in the dining hall, he maintains a safe distance between them. Six inches of breathing space, with only the occasional brush of the knuckles against each other. Yixing keeps an eye on the levels, the CCTV, the doors, and the next thing he knows Lu Han's rushing out, threading their fingers together. The fit is a bit awkward, but the warm slide of their hands brushes aside all of Yixing's thoughts. They're like kids running down the hallway, hurrying to their hotel room. Lu Han has the nicest pink flush on his cheeks when Yixing manages to unlock their door.

Lu Han backs him against the door, slides his arms around his waist. Their foreheads are pressed against each other, and the tips of their noses touch. Lu Han hasn't come down from the high yet, still giggling even as he slips his hands down Yixing's shorts, cupping a handful of his ass.

"Hi," Lu Han whispers.

Yixing laughs a little, cranes his neck to nip on Lu Han's earlobe, to lick the shell of his ear. "Hello."

Lu Han's breath hitches. He stops in his search, then guides Yixing to the bed.

Back when they were in high school, Lu Han wasn't this… careful. He was more reckless, remorseless, like force was necessary to get every single thing done. The first time Yixing caught him and Zitao in one of their sexcapades, Lu Han just slipped in the showers and pressed against Zitao, dick rubbing against the cleft of Zitao's ass. The second, he was rutting against Zitao's mouth, thrusting with so much force that Yixing almost wondered how Zitao could take it. Zitao _could_ take anything, though, and as time passed Yixing learned that Zitao was fine with that. Two strong forces colliding, falling to the ground. A beautiful explosion.

And then there's Lu Han's testing hands, lips, when he deals with Yixing, like he's scared Yixing might break anytime. That he might lose his way back home and Yixing won't be there to guide him.

"You okay with this?" Lu Han asks. Too late for questions, Yixing wants to say. Lu Han's straddling him and there's a problem in his pants and Lu Han looks too good like this, slightly inebriated but sober enough to make sure Yixing's _okay_ with things. He nods, splays his fingers on Lu Han's stomach through his shirt. Lu Han shivers at the touch. He slips his hands beneath the clothes, lifts Lu Han's shirt all the way until Lu Han's pulling it over his head. It's almost methodical, the whole process, that Yixing can take time to appreciate the subtle curves and dips of Lu Han's muscles, the contours of his body. He hasn't seen this in a while, hasn't touched Lu Han in years. Part of him shivers in fear, the other half in uncertainty, but Lu Han brushes them aside when he he dips his head, meeting Yixing's lips in a kiss.

Yixing lets out an appreciative groan when Lu Han licks the cavern of his mouth. He can feel the slow-forming smile on Lu Han's lips on his skin.

Lu Han helps him slip off his clothes, tossing them to the floor once they're done. Lu Han maps out his chest, warm fingers tracing the grooves of his muscles. Yixing pulls Lu Han closer, hands on Lu Han's hips, and Lu Han chuckles. "Hold on, I'm appreciating art here," is Lu Han's way of saying _I can stay like this with you forever_ , but Yixing pushes that thought to the back of his mind even as Lu Han presses closer, taking one of his nipples between his lips and running his tongue along it.

Lu Han looks up, poised to say something, but Yixing beats him to it. "No tennis parallelisms. Don't ruin the sport," he whispers, then Lu Han chuckles and nods.

But Lu Han _is_ tennis, Yixing thinks – the precise ball toss in the way he locks eyes with Yixing before going in for another kiss, the sharp forehand when he pulls away and lets his hand travel south, cupping Yixing's erection. Lu Han makes sure all the shots count – the light brush of his thumb along the tip of Yixing's dick and the fast, efficient pumps before he slips Yixing's cock between his lips. A sizzle of heat rolls down Yixing's abdomen as Lu Han presses his tongue flat along his shaft, then draws a long, loud suck. Lu Han keeps one hand on the base of Yixing cock as he bobs his head, teeth grazing the sides just enough to elicit a moan from Yixing. He's rarely not in control and he hates it, hates the sinking sensation in his stomach that makes him want to rut mercilessly into Lu Han's mouth, but Lu Han pulls away all the way and presses a light kiss to the tip of his dick and everything else dissipates into air.

He gulps hard, threads his fingers through Lu Han's hair. This image of Lu Han – cheeks flushed and lips so plump and red – will haunt him for days. The friction of their heated bodies will leave him with a stinging pain all over for the rest of the tour.

Lu Han licks his lips before pressing forward, lips a mix of hot and cold when he sinks Yixing's cock in his mouth. Gentle nips along the shaft, long, drawn out sucks, a warm, wet thumb slick with saliva pressed to his rim, and Yixing feels his thighs tremble, abdomen coiling under Lu Han's touch. Lu Han nuzzles his inner thigh and keeps his eyes locked onto Yixing's own as he bobs his head, rhythm in tandem with Yixing's heavy breathing, and Yixing lets out a strangled cry like that's what does it for him – Lu Han's eyes fixed on nobody else, Lu Han telling him that he won't leave, that there's nowhere else to go. He comes at the back of Lu Han's throat, a low moan spilling from his lips as Lu Han licks lazy circles on his cock, teasing and taunting. Lu Han licks him clean, surfaces and locks their lips together once he's done. Yixing can taste himself at the back of Lu Han's teeth, in the stretch of Lu Han's tongue.

Lu Han shifts, his erection pressing against Yixing's cock, and Yixing shivers.

"So we'll, uh–" Lu Han begins, laughing a little. "You'll have to–"

"I'm on it," Yixing whispers, swallowing the rest of Lu Han's words in the open press of his mouth. He slips his hand between them, gives Lu Han's balls a gentle squeeze. Lu Han's soft moans are music to his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

[ **philippines** ]

 

Lu Han pulls his hat down over his eyes and mumbles, "Too early to live."

The three-hour trip to Manila is a smooth ride. They'd taken off at six in the morning, touched down sometime around nine in the morning. They're right on track, as far as the schedule is concerned. They'll have a few good hours to check in their luggages and rest at the hotel, then get raring for practice in the afternoon. There's the option to stay until the evening to practice, but nobody does that anymore, not in professional tennis. They know better than to strain their muscles and hope to be in tip-top shape the following day, after all.

Lu Han bumps into Yixing on their way to the exit. He teeters forward, resting his head on Yixing's shoulder. "I hate the sun," Lu Han groans, and Yixing only chuckles. "Don't try anything weird or kinky when we get to the room."

Yixing scoffs and shrugs his shoulders. Lu Han bolts, stutters in his steps, and then he's falling back in step with Yixing. "Sleep in your bed, then," he replies, but he keeps the tone light. Lu Han catches on and loops his arm around Yixing's own.

The temperature isn't as bad as he'd thought. Forecast said it would be more humid in the Philippines than in Shanghai, but Manila's having its fair share of cool weather today. Light drizzle beyond the glass walls of the airport, and cool winds as soon as they step outside. It's comfortable enough for a walk and sleeping in, if Yixing ever feels like skipping practice. The past two days of play have been intense – he hasn't played this quality of tennis in a while.

"Perfect weather for training for the Australian Open," he hears someone say behind him. Two months until the start of the new season. Two months, and they'll be back touring the world again without any permanent address, conquering one title after another.

Lu Han slips his hand in Yixing's, gives it a light squeeze. "Ssh. You're thinking too much. We haven't even had coffee yet," he says. Yixing takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders slump, leaning back against Lu Han a little.

Lu Han climbs onto Yixing's lap when they get to the hotel room. They've been given twin beds for this stay, but Lu Han insists that Yixing's bed is warmer, more comfortable. More conducive for a peaceful slumper. "Maybe because there's already _someone_ occupying it," Yixing says, grabbing Lu Han by the shoulders to shake him. Lu Han keeps his eyes closed, though, pretending he's asleep. The light trembling of his body betrays him, and the laughter that soon spills from his lips gives him away.

The only good thing about this is that Lu Han's in tip-top shape come lunch time, and he's chatting with the Philippine team already. "Sleeping with the enemy," he whispers before heading to the other table, and Zitao only shakes his head in response.

"You think by now he'd realize that we already know about his obsession for Federer," Zitao says, voice only barely above a whisper. It's loud enough for Yixing to hear, or maybe he's only close enough to catch the sound. Half of his attention is on Lu Han's figure, turned back to them, as he looks at Federer with admiration. The other half is split into a quarter each – one portion for the lunch he's yet to finish, and the other for whatever Zitao is saying. Zitao doesn't seem to notice, keeps babbling about Lu Han and his silly antics, how things haven't changed from when they were in high school.

"He's changed a bit," Yixing says. He cranes his neck, looking for the tiny egg in the _pancit_ they've been served, and takes the lone piece that he finds. "Not too obvious, but if you know him well enough–"

"And you do," Zitao interrupts. A corner of his lips is tugged up in some crazy, smug smile Yixing knows too well. This is Zitao's _you're hiding something from me but I know about it already, anyway_ look. It can also be his _nice try at being cryptic, ge_ look. Zitao wipes it off his lips soon after, then takes a sip of his drink. "How's that coming along, by the way?"

"How's _what_ coming along?"

"Oh, you know, Metal Gear Solid 4." Wawrinka turns to look at them with wide eyes, but Zitao only waves him off. "You and ge. C'mon, everybody knows you had a thing back in high school."

Not everybody, hopefully. The tennis association will flip if they so much as caught news on two players in the ATP top 20 sleeping with each other. 'We go way back' isn't a good enough excuse if they are ever summoned for interrogation. How do you explain hickies in weird places? They can't always blame the mosquitoes. And then there's Lu Han's lack of concern for getting caught, unaware of private space. If Lu Han isn't pressed against him, he's got an arm around Yixing's waist. If they aren't just lying beside each other in the hotel room, they're fucking. At least it doesn't show in their play the following day.

"We're good," Yixing says after a while. Zitao doesn't seem convinced, lips drawn to a thin, thin line and an eyebrow cocked. "Momentum's back, I guess. We can even play doubles if we had to." Not if they wanted to, because Yixing knows too well that Lu Han's heart lies in singles. And his own heart is toeing the tape of the net, unsure which side to fall on. "He's been moving around well, too. It's as if he didn't take a two-year break."

"Ge," Zitao says, patience thinning in the way he exhales loudly. "I mean you two as friends. As whatever you should be." He scratches his nape, nail drawing a line along the slope of his neck. Yixing still remembers the way Lu Han used to bury his face in the crook of Zitao's shoulder. It's a messy, awkward fit. "How's that coming along?"

Yixing looks up, looks at Lu Han who's engaging in conversation with Federer. Lu Han stops for a while, catching his gaze, and cocks his head in response. He only shakes his head to answer. "We're coming along," he says. "We're good."

Good isn't supposed to be the state of a more-than-friendship that was once destroyed and is slowly being restored. Yixing gets it, the fact that Lu Han isn't good at fixing broken things, moreso himself. He isn't in the business of rushing things but, at the same time, it _has_ been nearly ten years. Nearly a decade of waltzing around and fucking each other in the dark and still no one way to define whatever it is that they are. 'Best fucks and friends' is good enough – Yixing doesn't know anybody who gives head like Lu Han does, but then he hasn't ever slept with anyone but Lu Han, and Zitao. And maybe Chanyeol, but that story is for another day.

With Zitao, he's always been the one doing all the work to make sure they keep everything nice and clean. No messy feelings involved. He has enough of that with Lu Han to last him a lifetime.

Zitao worries his bottom lip some more before sinking back in his seat. He hands the quail egg on his plate to Yixing. Yixing beams at him and mumbles a sound of gratitude. "Just… get your shit sorted soon, okay?" Zitao says. "And nope, you're not using me as a middleman anymore. None of that bullshit in the past."

Yixing chuckles and ruffles Zitao's hair. Zitao flinches, but leans into the touch soon after.

Lu Han doesn't return to the table until thirty minutes after, supposedly rife with information on the opposing team. "I just heard that that Kim Jongdae guy does a complete 360 with his personality when he picks up a racket," Lu Han offers, and Zitao rolls a ball of tissue, chucks it at him. Zitao nearly misses Lu Han when Lu Han leans back in his seat, but he goes for the save just before the material touches Yixing's cheek.

"I've got your back," Lu Han says, winking when he ends. Yixing rolls his eyes in response.

Under the table, they link their ankles, and Zitao doesn't even question why they can't stand without the other doing the same. "Weird best friend thing," Zitao mumbles under his breath. Lu Han only hums and leans his head on Yixing's shoulder in acknowledgement.

 

 

They're practicing against Team Japan today. Agassi gave Yixing to Sampras, and Nadal has been assigned to Lu Han. Singles matches for the first three hours – they'd placed a limit just so they're aware that _this is only for practice_ – then they're back to practicing with their own teams. Zitao looks cool as cucumber while playing opposite Nishikori two courts away even if was gushing about Nishikori being the best Asian player ever before stepping on court. Breaks between games are peppered with big grins, though, that Lu Han capitalizes on.

"Lose and you'll have to propose to your favorite!" Lu Han tells Zitao in Chinese. Chang seems to get it, snickering in a corner and missing the forehand Agassi aims at him. Zitao loses the point and sticks his middle finger up in Lu Han's general direction.

"Lose and you'll have to call your favorite 'oppa' the whole day!"

Lu Han narrows his eyes then turns his attention back on the game. Yixing only throws the two a quick glance before picking up the ball from the floor. To Sampras, he asks, "Let's play?"

Team Philippines is supposed to be all about technique. Put Roger Federer and Andy Murray in one team and what have you got? Two tricksters in the same group. It doesn't help that the Byun-Do doubles pair is one of the top seeded pairs in the world, either – apart, they're exceptional tennis players, both looking at their first entry into the top five in next year's Australian Open. Yixing has played with Kyungsoo before, shortly after the latter turned pro, and while his shots weren't as polished as those of the tennis greats, he had shots to boast of – a precise forehand, exceptional service. A penchant for hitting deep angles with a topspin, and stamina as well. He's enough a threat that, when you put him in a team with Team Philippines' most reckless rookie, they're victory waiting to happen.

Yixing feels the strain on his eyes when he looks up. His eyes are dry but, if he blinks, he might miss this shot. So he hits a volley to the opposite side Sampras runs to, almost misses the sides of the singles court and earns himself a triple break point. "Almost tilted your racket back there," Sampras says, then gives him a curt nod. "Eyes on the ball, kid. You're almost winning."

Yixing furrows his eyebrows, then looks at the scoreboard. He _is_ up 5-4 in this set. If he grabs the break from Sampras then he has already won. The little pride of China, Zhang Yixing, taking down tennis legend Pete Sampras 6-4 in a practice match – damn, that would look good on his resume.

Sampras doesn't make it easy for him, though, and manages to bring the score to a deuce. Three changes of advantage point and they're both laughing already. _This is just a practice match,_ Yixing tells himself again and again. _You don't have to take it seriously. You don't have to–_ But he needs to win. There's no point in striving to do well and emerging as a loser because he isn't trying hard enough.

His mind goes back to the try-outs finale between him and Lu Han almost a decade back. Even at a young age, neither of them knew how to lose. It's like victory's been programmed into their system, ingrained in their minds. Do something you're passionate about and do it well. There are no in-betweens.

Sampras tosses the ball in the air and Yixing studies the movement of the ball, from the time Sampras brings his left arm up, over his head. The pads of his fingers slide off the ball, and the ball takes a bit of a curve to the left. Yixing grins – this is a serve he's spent hours reading, studying, copying and practicing. It's also a serve he's spent hours trying to return.

The ball takes a nice, deep curve, landing just a few inches shy of Yixing's feet. He takes a step back, sliding to his left, and returns the service with a backhand down the T. Sampras is quick to recover, rushing to the center, and he aims the ball to the righthand corner of the court. Yixing bounces on his heels and runs to reach the ball, but the stretch is difficult. If he extends his arm all the way, the force of the shot might leave Yixing with a sore wrist. If he tries to jump in the ball's direction, he might land on his knees or twist his ankle. If he doesn't get it, though, he'll miss another chance at defeating Sampras on a service break.

If he doesn't take a leap of faith, then he'll never win.

One extra step, feet three shoulder widths apart now, and he feels the force of the shot shake up the strings of his racket. Too powerful, he thinks – give him a sneaky player and he'll know how to force a 6-1 win in all sets. Give him a player who utilizes technique _and_ power and he'll run into a bit of a problem. He tries to make it work, though, crosses his left leg over his right and bouncing off his left foot for the extra kick. The ball rolls along the strings, settles on the sweet spot, and Yixing draws his racket over his head, releasing the ball as if he's struck it with a liquid whip. The executions takes no more than a few seconds, but Yixing feels as if he's held his breath in forever while pulling off the shot. The ball touches the singles line at the back of the court, almost missing by the width of a hair, and Sampras only looks at the point where the ball had been.

Yixing takes a few quick breaths as he stills the heaving of his chest. Sampras faces front, chest heaving, but he still looks fresh. There's a crazy smile on his lips.

"That was a buggy whip shot," Sampras says. He looks up at Yixing and laughs a little. "I haven't seen that in, what, forever?"

"The age is showing!" Agassi says, and that snaps Yixing back to reality. Sampras is still laughing, more uncontrollable now, and soon he's clapping in Yixing's direction, shaking his head, saying, "China's gonna whip Philippines' ass."

"Great job, kid," Sampras tells him when they meet at the net. Yixing tries not to giggle or gurgle even if the rest of the team – yes, Agassi included – is making funny faces just over Sampras' shoulder. "Don't mind them, they're crazy. Go win your match tomorrow."

Yixing takes a shaky breath and finally feels his lips again. The pull of a grin is a welcome sensation at the corners of his mouth. "I will, idol," he says, voice so faint he might as well be whispering.

He catches sight of Lu Han giving him two thumbs-up and he loses it completely, flashing his teeth. "I won't let you down."

 

 

Practice ends at six in the evening. Yixing, Lu Han, and Zitao stay behind, though, to watch Team Philippines do a couple more games before calling it a day. It's both Andy's against Kim Jongdae in court number two, and Kyungsoo and Baekhyun practicing their groundstrokes at the court just beside it. "I say he's crazy," Zitao comments, pointing at Jongdae who's running to the net to return the volley. The stretch _is_ a stretch, and Yixing fears for Jongdae's legs for a moment. The slightest strain might cost him a great performance tomorrow, but the he reaches the ball just in time without a hint of pain in his features. Jongdae's legs aren't that long, but his footwork is great – no missteps, no wrong twists of the ankle. It's as if Roger Federer, himself, had trained him.

"He moves like Fed," Lu Han whispers in Yixing's ear. He follows Lu Han's gaze and heaves a sigh when Jongdae does a tweener, chuckles when the ball gets caught on the tape of the net. "Hey, hey, I said he moves _like_ Federer. Didn't say he's better."

"Don't ever compare Federer to anyone," Zitao says in his best Yixing voice. Yixing catches on, cocks an eyebrow at Zitao. Zitao is unfazed, though, pressing on as he says, "Federer is the best! There's no player like him!" The friendly teasing commences in Lu Han and Zitao reciting Yixing's famous lines, and Yixing only rolls his eyes are they chime, "He's the greatest player in the Open Era! Roger Federer is our savior!"

"I'm telling Kei and Stan," Yixing begins, threatening when he raises his index finger. "That _you two_ have a shrine dedicated to them–"

Lu Han snorts. "Who's the president of RFever International again, hmm?"

"I retired when I turned pro!"

"You still had seven years to fawn over him while you were still in the junior league," Zitao supplies. Yixing glares at him, and Zitao only sticks out his tongue. "There's nothing wrong with a little hero-worship!"

Yixing still remembers Zitao's not-so-fleeting obsession with Joonmyun's play years back. It was always _Joonmyun-hyung this, Joonmyun-hyung that, how does hyung serve so well? Hyung, I want to be like you–_ It's understandable, though – Joonmyun's a well-rounded player, able to fire winners from the baseline and even from the net. His backhand wasn't as strong then, but if Joonmyun concentrated hard enough and really, really got into his zone, it would be hard to find holes in his play. So it was always a matter of waiting it out with Joonmyun because as much as Joonmyun loved doing flashy trick shots, he was also a careful player. He was methodical in the way he served, even in the way he positioned himself when receiving a shot. And more than that, he was a sportsman. He knew how to recognize his opponents' great play and when to acknowledge his bad shots.

He could very well be the Roger Federer of their tennis team, except Joonmyun had chosen to take the doubles route shortly after turning pro. Minseok made Joonmyun's already great play even better with his excellent shot-making. Together, they were indestructible. Apart, they were formidable players who could force a tie-breaker in the fifth set in order to win.

And then there was Zitao's fondness for Lu Han and his weird way of showing it. Prolonging rallies during practice matches is one of them. A more unorthodox one is backing Lu Han against the tiles of the shower room and rubbing up against him there.

Yixing closes his eyes, opens them when he feels something warm on his arm. "You with us?" Lu Han asks, eyes wide open. His eyelids give him away, though, when they droop a little.

Yixing reaches out and opens his eyes as wide as he can. "Yeah, I'm here." I'm not going anywhere, he wants to say, but Lu Han already knows that. "I'm with you."

He turns his attention to Jongdae now, studying his movement, the way he does forehands, his receiving stance. He's a bit like Joonmyun, except more of a risk-taker. Less patient, more aggressive. It's a bad combination if Jongdae ever gets pushed to a fifth set in any of his games. Yixing has seen Jongdae crumble before, after being two sets up in the third round of the U.S. Open. He was up against Kim Jongin, another rookie who was a less experienced version of Zitao. Jongin wasn't as calculating as Jongdae, but he had his fair amount of experience with five-hour matches. So it was a toss-up between a real pro experience or the body age of a player making a difference. Also, will power and a thirst to prove oneself. Jongin had that in spades.

Jongin was patient with shots, and Jongdae was determined to take him down as quickly as possible. So what happens when a heavy ball meets a newly-restrung racket? Either you drop the racket because of the force or you wait for the ball to roll to the sweet spot before aiming a shot to the corners. And that was exactly what Jongin did.

"He's going to win this," Yixing remembers himself saying that them. Zitao nodded in agreement then, so sure of the outcome. Right now, though, watching Jongdae play years after, he can't say the same. He can indulge Jongdae in a practice match and he won't be able to predict the result of the match.

Lu Han gives his arm a gentle squeeze and Yixing turns to look at him. Lu Han's wearing a bright grin despite the heavy eyes and the years written on the lines on his forehead. After a while, he asks, "I'll get closer to the court, I need to see him play. Is that… Is that okay?"

Zitao cranes his neck for five whole seconds, then turns his attention back to the match unfolding in front of them.

Lu Han's grip is steady on his arm, the warmth of his palm pressing down on Yixing's skin. There's no need to ask for permission, really. Lu Han's just _going down there_ , after all, getting more information about their opponent and nothing more, but the way Lu Han's holding his arm, loose enough to not hurt but tight enough to remind him that there's a warm presence here, hello, Earth to Yixing, it's as if he's asking something else. Something along the lines of _what do you think about him?_ or _he's pretty interesting; you have a problem with that?_ Yixing tries to drown out the voices in his head and focuses on the steady bounce of the ball on the court, the tiny sounds Lu Han is making. The thumping in his chest that gets louder by the second and is set to the beat of Lu Han's pulse against his skin.

"Yeah, sure," he says after a while. He wets his lips and Lu Han's eyes are immediately drawn to them, as if Yixing's demanding attention. "I mean, you just want to study how he plays–"

"Just that," Lu Han reiterates. "Just tennis. All work."

"No play?" Yixing asks.

Lu Han leans in, hovering until laughter cracks his mouth open. "No play."

Lu Han slides his hand down Yixing's arm. Yixing catches Lu Han's fingers, threading them in his own. He's sure Zitao's watching or at least shooting them quick glances, but his stomach is lurching forward and his heart's leaping out his chest and Lu Han's just there, not moving, like he's waiting for one last word of confirmation. He lets his eyes travel south, lingering on the dip of Lu Han's lips as he sucks in his bottom lip. "Okay, then," he says. "Go and do your assignment, champion."

Lu Han reaches out, pinching his cheek before pulling away. "Not yet. Soon," Lu Han answers, and then he's descending the stairs. Moving closer to the court, inching further away from where Yixing is.

"You're good," comes Zitao's question – no, statement – beside him minutes after. _Last ten minutes!_ he hears Jongdae call out from below. Zitao's eyes haven't left the match yet, following Murray's movement now and marveling at the way he serves.

Yixing takes a deep breath and nods. "We're good," he says, voice dropping to a whisper. He doesn't fight the grin making its way to his lips. "We're good."

 

 

The China-Philippines match takes place on the second day of the tournament. Singles three is slated to happen in the evening session, six in the evening at the earliest if the doubles matches don't take forever to finish. Yixing makes sure to wake his senses up as early as ten in the morning, nonetheless, and keeps a close eye on the matches early on in the day. Agassi and Chang team up for doubles two against the Amitraj and Murray, and Zitao makes a vague comment about the match being _legendary._ Agassi's already well out of hearing range when Zitao cracks up, laughing without inhibitions, but the laughter blares in their area loud enough to catch the attention of their other teammates. Agassi doesn't even attempt to ask what's going on – he was the one who cracked the 'legend' joke before the match, after all – but he does pinch Zitao in his side when he goes back to the box to retrieve his wristbands.

"One day, people will call you legends–" Agassi pinches Zitao again, and Zitao's face falls forward, resting against Lu Han's back. "–and you'll play old tennis and still be admired for it–"

Lu Han looks up at Yixing, lips quirking up. "Legends," is the only thing he says, voice almost dropping to a whisper. Yixing nods in acknowledgement and whispers the word right back.

It's easier to imagine climbing to the top when you're young. Back in high school, even after clocking in long hours of training, Lu Han would still probably have enough energy to take Yixing through his tennis dreams. Lu as the world number one, and Zhang at number two, trailing by just 200 points. They'd face each other in Wimbledon for the eighth straight time. It would be a test to see who could outsmart the other and pull the head-to-head record form 14-14 to 15-14. Yixing would say, _why not China's top seeds first? That's easier to imagine._ Lu Han would laugh and tell him, _Nothing's impossible when you set your eyes on something._

They're eye-to-eye now, and Zitao is being called to the court for his doubles match with Wawrinka. Lu Han breaks the eye contact after a while, glancing at the court, but turns back to Yixing with an even bigger smile than before. "Olympics 2016?" Lu Han says now, the lilt in his voice making the statement sound more of a question than a declaration. Lu Han's rarely uncertain, but maybe even the Olympics is too much to picture. Or maybe those two years of inactivity, those four years between them reduced to three inches and a sharp intake of breath, has done this to him, made him more aware of the limitations of reality.

"Which country?" Yixing asks, then. Lu Han widens his eyes, leans back for a while. "Korea or China?"

Lu Han sucks in his bottom lip and heaves a sigh. "That we'll have to find out."

The doubles one match stretches past the four-hour mark and Agassi starts pacing in their box, clenching and unclenching his fists every so often. Both players are good with long, draining matches with endless tiebreaks, but they're up against the Byun-Do pair. Those two have earned more doubles titles that the number of cats Zitao has picked up from the streets. Murray adjusts well and Zitao makes sure to not forget that he's playing alongside _someone,_ but Baekhyun and Kyungsoo make Zitao and Murray's singles-style tennis look like a joke. They switch from two tops at the front to the Australian formation in the blink of an eye, do feints that Yixing can only dream of.

"Oh God, I can't watch this–" Lu Han mumbles under his breath when Kyungsoo hits a drop shot that slides along the trace of the net. "Can't he make some sort of mistake? There's got to be a flaw in this doubles pair, come on!"

"It's not them," Yixing says. He leans forward, chin tucked on his clasped hands. "Maybe the two Andy's would've pulled off the match-up better. I mean, Tao's good at adjusting but…" Zitao crouches low to make way for Murray's volley. The ball lands on the line of the doubles court and Lu Han lets out a loud exhale. "You don't build doubles chemistry overnight."

Lu Han snickers. "Zitao doesn't do guys anymore, though."

Yixing rolls his eyes and nudges Lu Han in his side. Lu Han snakes an arm around his shoulder as if on instinct, and pulls Yixing closer. "That's not what I meant."

What he means is Zitao and Murray supposedly being able to communicate just by listening to the sound of each other's footsteps. Zitao and Murray following gut feel and knowing where to run to keep the court covered because they've memorized each other's movements. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo have spent their entire lives practicing alongside each other, committing each other's play to memory. It's obvious – Yixing sees it in the way Baekhyun reacts to the tiniest jerk of Kyungsoo's body. It's in the way Baekhyun takes three steps back when Kyungsoo moves forward to aim a volley to the back of the court. It's not in them passing each other glances when they come within each other's line of sight but in the way they _don't_ look at each other because they know what's on each other's minds. That kind of connection – that's the kind that brings two people together and makes them produce great tennis. It's the kind of connection that leads a doubles pair to a grand slam win.

Murray leans forward for a while and whispers something in Zitao's ear. Zitao looks over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, but nods before Murray pulls away.

A few feet away, Agassi chuckles. "That sneaky bastard," he whispers. Yixing cocks his head but leans closer even more, eyes focused on the game unfolding in front of them.

It isn't until three games after that Yixing figures out what's going on. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun switch positions on court, and Murray moves to the front instead of taking the baseline. Zitao crouches low, then, meeting Kyungsoo at eye level. From where Yixing is, he can make out the smug smile on Zitao's lips when Kyungsoo tosses the ball to serve. The path the ball takes isn't different – it's Zitao's movement that isn't completely his. Kyungsoo steps to his right to do a backhand, and Zitao returns the same ball with a backhand. Baekhyun tries to play the ball close to the net, but Murray is there to return the ball with another drop shot just as the ball bounces off the court. It's as if they're mirroring Baekhyun and Kyungsoo, the way they move on court, except they're faster, more experienced. Murray plays tricky shots at the net to match that of Baekhyun's, and Zitao swings his racket like he's using his left hand instead of his right.

This is no longer a tennis match. It's a mind game now, and whoever takes the second set is sure to take the third set if the momentum keeps up.

It's an uncharacteristic backhand drive between Baekhyun's feet that seals the deal, earning them the doubles one win over Team Philippines. Zitao raises both arms in the air when the scores are finally announced, and Murray gives him a tight hug before they meet the other duo at the net. Both teams are all smiles when they shake hands, and Zitao even looks as if he's in a daze. Trust Zitao to not believe he's actually won over a top-seeded doubles pair.

"You ready?" Agassi asks Yixing. Yixing nods and gets up on his feet. Lu Han sticks out his leg in an attempt to keep Yixing from going anywhere, but Yixing skips over it, sticks his tongue out in response.

"Your racket's here," Lu Han says. He holds the racket up, grip facing Yixing. It feels a lot like their try-outs, when they weren't sure yet if tennis was _the one_ for them. "Don't mess up."

Yixing chuckles, reaches out to ruffle Lu Han's hair. Lu Han leans into the touch and Yixing gives into the allure of Lu Han's smile, promising, "I would never."

 

 

Team Philippines surprises Team China with a change in line up. Agassi teases Federer, calling foulplay, and Federer only shakes his head. Yesterday's news said it was Roddick who was going to take the singles three spot for the team, but instead it's Jongdae who's standing opposite Yixing on court. They've never met before, not in all of the tournaments they've competed in, but Yixing's well aware of Jongdae's playing style. He replays last night's practice in his head, again and again until he memorizes Jongdae's movement in his mind. If this is a battle between experience and vigor then Yixing will do his best to play both roles and clinch the win. If this is a battle of will, then he can't assure the team that he'll triumph over young Kim Jongdae's willpower.

"Such an honor facing you on tour," Jongdae says when they meet at the net for a handshake. He seems much smaller up close, but the court doesn't swallow him up. "You're actually… one of my idols."

Yixing chuckles, then turns to the umpire to say that he'll take the right side of the coin. "Big words," Yixing replies. He's not in that stage of his career yet where he's accustomed to being called a role model. "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, I–" Jongdae scrunches his nose when the coin toss yields a tails. "Federer's my idol, too. I'm a big fan of his."

Yixing snorts. "Aren't we all?"

Jongdae laughs under his breath. His cheeks flush a light shade of pink. It makes him look even smaller than he already is.

With all these feet of playing space between them, though, Jongdae doesn't look like the tiny player who'd approached him earlier. If Yixing squints, Jongdae might even look the same height as Zitao. Same build, as well, but with a different brand of confidence in the stretch of his body. Jongdae favors staying at mid-court for better coverage, but he isn't so bad at net play either. _Exactly like Joonmyun-hyung,_ Yixing says to himself. He steps his right foot back, anticipating the oncoming forehand, and hits a volley to the back of the court.

Jongdae looks over his shoulder, eyes widening for a moment. A blink and then it's gone, replaced by Jongdae's furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. There's a small upward tug of the lip lighting the tight corners of his mouth. 3-1 in Yixing's favor in the first set.

Jongdae takes his first break of serve when Yixing fires a bad backhand out wide, just a few centimeters shy of the singles line. They'd been at deuce for a good five minutes already when Yixing felt his playing hand tremble. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a sharp pain shooting up from his index finger to the base of his elbow. This happens when he takes too many heavy balls with a single-handed backhand. _Don't mess up,_ Lu Han's voice echoes in his mind, and he counts the seconds until Jongdae releases the ball in the air for his first serve.

The slight change of direction in ball toss, the more open swing of the racket. _Fault,_ Yixing calls the shot in his head, but he crouches low anyway. If Jongdae's lucky, the ball will graze the tape of the net and will be called a let. The angle of his swing won't make for a good kick serve; he'll need to toss the ball more to the left for better direction and spin. Lady Luck seems to be on Jongdae's side, though, and the ball misses the tape by just a centimeter, speeding over the net. Yixing takes two steps back, and another two to his right. He grips the throat of the racket with his left hand and returns the ball with an easy swing, his left hang guiding the racket for a more fluid stroke.

The ball lands just over Jongdae's shoulder. Yixing can still feel the stinging pain in his arm. He looks up at Agassi, then at Lu Han. If he wants to earn China another win and a relatively early night, then he has to make sure he doesn't run into any tie-breakers. Two long rallies that both end with a drop shot, and Yixing manages to secure the break of serve. 4-2 in China's favor. Zero to one for Yixing's playing hand.

The throbbing doesn't bother him too much until the last point of the set, where he intends to fire a nice, clean ace to minimize the number of rallies. Jongdae does exceptionally well at keeping up long exchanges, a forehand for a forehand, but he's better at changing strokes halfway through the ball traveling to the other side of the court. The service lands between Jongdae's feet and bounces to the left, but Jongdae is fast – he takes two steps back and returns the shot with a high lob. _Fuck that height,_ Yixing groans, but keeps his eyes on the ball anyway. If there's one shot in particular that drives Yixing insane, it's lobs like this. Lu Han knows this well, uses it to his advantage to earn easy points and end a long rally. Yixing won't be surprised if Jongdae's caught on about that – tennis players watch each other rise and fall on court. There's the option to help the other get up, but that comes after collecting as much information about him as possible. Underlined thrice in Yixing's notebook, an entry on Jongdae – great service, heavy forehand, high lobs, dammit.

The ball inches closer, just a few inches above Yixing's head. From a corner of his eye, he sees Jongdae move to the far left side, anticipating a change in direction. Yixing smiles a little and tilts his racket back, meeting the ball with a light tap over the next. The ball teeters on the tape for a while until it rolls down the other side of the net, sliding to Jongde's side of the court.

Jongdae laughs, face falling forward as he shakes his head. Yixing exhales and pumps his fist up in the air. He catches sight of both Zitao and Lu Han waving their arms up hight. China wins the first set, 6-4.

He isn't expecting the match to be a walk in the park, and Jongdae delivers. The opening service game sees 40-0 on the scoreboard after two consecutive aces and two unreturnable serves. _Look out for the kick serve,_ he remembers Agassi mentioning over lunch, _they'll hit you in the face when you least expect it._ The last thing Yixing saw coming was a literal interpretation of that, a service that bounces in the direction of his face. He steps to his left, avoiding the ball, and can only watch as the ball almost touches his skin. The serve packs enough angle to bounce away from the receiver's body, has enough force to _force_ players back and hit the ball back with an opposite slice.

He furrows his eyebrows, then chuckles when realization dawns upon him. When Jongdae said 'idol', he didn't expect this.

Number one rule in tennis: if you are to copy a player's shot – the technique, the power, the logistics of it – make sure to do it a bit differently. Add more spin, curve the path that the ball takes even more so that the shot doesn't look like a carbon copy of the existing one. "Great shot back there!" Yixing calls out, nonetheless, and takes his position on the other side of the net. Three bounces of the ball on the court, a tight squeeze of the ball before releasing it to the air and slipping into trophy position. Too familiar, too rehearsed.

Yixing takes two steps to his left. Too unnatural, he thinks. Jongdae can do better.

He gets to the ball this time, racket positioned to return the service with a forehand. The power is still there, unreturnable if you don't assume the proper receiving position, but the shot goes in and lands near the back of the court. Jongdae runs, quick on his feet, and reaches the ball in time, but his grip is a bit loose and he tilts his racket up instead of swinging it forward. The ball lobs to the other side of the court, a high arc that Yixing keeps his eyes on. He clicks his tongue, waits for the right moment to strike it. He can feel a nerve in his hand twitching.

 _Not now,_ he tells his senses. If he can't rely on his body then he'll rely on willpower. It has never let him down before.

Jongdae's moving closer to the net, big strides that secure him a nice position as he waits at the forecourt. Yixing takes a deep breath and squints when the court lights get in his eyes. A few more seconds until the ball reaches the optimum height for a smash, but he can also go for a volley. He can wait it out and return it with a forehand, but he knows better than to second-guess his shots. With a firm nod, he grips his racket tighter and swings forward, a fluid smashing motion that sends the ball speeding to the far right side of the singles court.

The tingling sensation crawls up to his knuckles, turns the pads of his fingers cold. "Work with me now," he whispers. He gets the break of serve, 5-4 in his favor. To his hand, he says, "Don't let me down."

He's been in a similar situation before, maybe even worse. The worst was when he had to fight back from two sets down _and_ two match points down to secure a spot in the US Open quarterfinals. Four grueling hours of play after and then he sealed the deal with an ace, winning the last set 6-2. He'd just come from nursing a back injury then, and cramps that were the result of the long playing time and lack of water. So this is nothing. It _should_ be nothing, even if he can feel the numbing sensation slowly creep up his arm, clawing at his joints.

He transfers his racket to his left hand and shakes the feeling back to his arm. He doesn't look to the side, at his box, or even try to glance at Agassi. One more game, and then another set. It shouldn't take too long.

"Ready to play?" the umpire asks. Yixing takes three balls from the ball boy and gives the umpire a curt nod. He looks at Jongdae on the other side of the court, grinning. He means to say, _your service was great, but only just,_ but his entire body says something else.

 _This is how you do it,_ Yixing says when he assumes his place on his side of the service court. _This is how a real champion does it–_

A ball toss that curves slightly to the left, knees bent in a thirty-degree angle, the L of the left hand framing the ball. The playing arm bent, elbow pointing east, then swinging from left to right as the ball rolls along the face of the racket. A fluid follow through to the left side of the body as Yixing releases the ball from the tight weave of the strings. The ball landing between Jongdae's feet, then bouncing to the right side of the court in an angle so sharp that it speeds right to the walls of the bleachers.

Jongdae is gaping at the sight, eyes trained on the ball as it rolls back by a few inches, but the rest of his body remains still. The burning sensation in Yixing's playing arm stings now more than ever. The pain subsides when he sees the look on Jongdae's face, when their eyes meet, when a smile lights the corners of Jongdae's lips as Jongdae mouths _wow_. The dull ache remains, but for the most part Yixing feels like he can go a few more games, sets, matches.

He feels invincible. He feels like a champion.

He takes another ball from his pocket and raises it in Jongdae's direction, signaling the start of play. Jongdae answers him with a bright grin and bright eyes. Jongdae is glowing.

Yixing laughs a little. He's had a lot of experience dealing with people who shine in the face of danger. He thinks of Lu Han and tosses the ball in the air, ready to win the set with an ace.

 

 

The match stretches to a deciding fourth set an hour after.

Jongdae had regained his momentum halfway through the third set, resulting to a tie-breaker, and Yixing committed his first double fault of the match on the quintessential point, earning Jongdae his third set win. Yixing serves out the opening game in the fourth set, and Jongdae returns the favor with his own brand of kick serves. Jongdae isn't trying to be like Yixing anymore, isn't copying his serves – he has turned Yixing's signature kick serve into one of his own, one that packs more power but less direction and costs him a few points.

It takes two lets before Jongdae falls prey to a double fault, and two breaks of serve to dampen Jongdae's spirits. Now, blazing past Jongdae 5-2 in the fourth set, Yixing dribbles the ball with his left hand, prepared to serve at triple match point.

Jongdae knows his service too well by now, having seen it up close, but he goes with his trusty kick serve for the first try nonetheless. He tosses the ball up in the air, but lets it fall back to the ground when he feels a sharp sting shoot up his arm. There's the collective murmur around him then before the crowd falls silent again, and he gives the service another shot. _Just one service. One last favor, please,_ he repeats in his mind, mumbles under his breath like a prayer.

He releases the ball again and he feels a surge of energy wrap around his arm this time. The ball toss lacks the curve he needs to do the perfect kick serve, so he draws his arm back, elbow pointing away from the opponent. He straightens his arm earlier this time, meeting the ball close to the frame, and relishes the feeling of the ball rolling along the face of the racket, the tension of the movement. He feels the ball weight down on the sweet spot and he swings forward, pushing the ball to the other side of the court. The sharp bounce of the ball off the strings is music to his ears, and the screech of Jongdae's shoes is the dissonance. He keeps his eyes focused on the ball, watching the path it takes before it lands to Jongdae's left, a few inches shy of the T. The ball bounces to the back and the crowd falls silent until Jongdae looks over his shoulder.

The ball's rolling back to court now, quick after the impact from the collision, and Jongdae bends his knees. The umpire announces the final score – 6-4 6-4 6-7(9) 7-6(8). Jongdae picks up the ball, examines it, and Yixing wiggles his fingers before approaching the net. His limbs feel so heavy and sore and he's sweaty all over, but curiosity brings him to his destination faster than expected.

"You alright there?" he asks Jongdae. His voice cracks, throat dry after the long hours of play. Jongdae looks up at him and lifts the ball in his hand. "That was a great match, by the way. You're really something, you know–"

"You did a mix of a flat serve and a kick," Jongdae finally says. He walks to the net, steps slow and measured. His arms are shaking, but that's probably fatigue talking. "I mean, the ball toss was for a flat serve but the swinging motion was that of a kick's– _How?_ "

Something bubbles inside Yixing, makes his chest swell until he's cracking up and laughing. Jongdae has recovered now, dropping the ball to the court, and extends a hand in Yixing's direction. "Seriously, though, how did you?" Jongdae asks again, cheeks pulled up in a small smile, and Yixing only shakes his head as he ruffles Jongdae's hair.

"I'll let you figure that one out," Yixing whispers. They walk to the umpire and reach their hands out. Jongdae grins. His eyes are on fire. "I'm looking forward to our next match."

 

 

Lu Han makes an effort to keep Yixing from collapsing on the bed. "Nope, I don't want to sleep on a stinky bed," Lu Han reasons out, but Yixing only waves him off and dives into the sheets. The feeling of sinking in the cushions lends comfort after a long and tiring match. The low, steady humming of the air conditioning is a nice melody to fall asleep to. Yixing feels cold fingers wrap around his nape, though, and he doesn't fight the sensation that makes his body shiver. Lu Han's response is soft laughter, but his fingers are threaded through Yixing's hair, giving the clump in his hand a gentle pull.

"I'm stripping you of your clothes if you don't freshen up before sleeping," Lu Han whispers. There's still a bit of authority in his voice, like he's the captain of the high school tennis team again. Yixing likes it, leans into it – Lu Han's cold touch, Lu Han's voice, the warm press of Lu Han's body.

"I got you sweaty again. Sorry," he says once he's lying on his back, head rested on Lu Han's lap. He reaches up, pinching the tip of Lu Han's nose. Lu Han only groans in response.

There's a thick blanket of silence for a while, broken only by Lu Han's loud exhale or Yixing breathing noisily through his nose. The dull ache of the match sinks right into the cushions all around them, seeps through the soft press of Lu Han's hand on his forehead. "What happened to you out there?" Lu Han asks after a while. He's using his tiny voice, the one he suppresses because it makes him sound whiny, clingy, too concerned. Vulnerable. "You don't choke on your service. You don't... wiggle your arm."

"It's been a while, Han," Yixing says. He cracks one eye open. "Maybe I've changed."

It's the ounce of uncertainty that gives him away. "Yeah. And you're taller than Agassi," Lu Han replies, poking his cheek. "The captain noticed, you know. You think Agassi wouldn't pick up something like that? He's the captain for a reason."

"A reason that does not involve the well-being of my hand." Slowly, Yixing opens his other eye. The lighting in the room isn't so bad, isn't as harsh as the court lights. He holds one hand up, nonetheless, shielding his vision from the blinding light. "Seriously, it's okay."

"Oh, come on," Lu Han groans. He drops his hand to his side, the pads of his fingers grazing Yixing's skin. This look on Lu Han's face, he hasn't seen in years. The gentle furrow of the eyebrows coupled with the downward tug of the lips – this is a mix of worry and frustration, like he's been missing his first serves for the past three games and doing all these bad shots during his own service game.

"Spill, or I'll kick you in the balls," Lu Han continues. "I know it when I see it, Xing, and I know you were in pain earlier."

Yixing snorts. "Then why didn't you tell Agassi to stop the play or something?"

Lu Han takes a deep breath. "Because I know it'll be more painful for you to take that kind of blow."

Yixing drops his hand to his thigh and looks up, straight in Lu Han's eyes. This knowledge – this is years of knowing each other at work. This is Lu Han pulling up facts about Yixing like he's never stopped studying him, like he has him memorized like the back of his hand. Like he's gotten so used to the movement of his body that Lu Han can walk around him with his eyes closed and not bump into him. This is Lu Han assuring Yixing that hey, I'm still here, if you ever need an interpreter then you can turn to me. Because that's what teammates do, right? Save each other's face when faced with public scrutiny? Help each other get through tough times? Help the other realize that succumbing to bouts of pain isn't so bad when compared to having to surrender to pain forever?

Lu Han takes Yixing's playing hand and runs his thumb along Yixing's knuckles. "Agassi will flip when he sees your nerves popping out like this."

The mental image is hilarious, but Lu Han's gaze is so tender and his touch is gentle and he's drawing Yixing's hand close to his lips. "I... knew I could handle the pain, so I pressed on," Yixing manages to reason out despite the brewing storm in his mind. Lu Han presses on, as well, kissing each of Yixing's knucles, pressing warm lips to the back of Yixing's hand. His other hand is hot on Yixing's stomach. Yixing reaches up and curls his hand on Lu Han's nape.

"You don't want to get an injury."

"I don't want to get an injury," Yixing repeats. He shifts in his position, sitting up on his legs, and shuns away the dull ache in his muscles at the stretch. "Didn't want to lose either so... I chose the lesser of two evils."

Lu Han shakes his head and gives Yixing's cheek a light jab. "You're crazy," he whispers, but he hasn't let go of Yixing yet.

Yixing takes a deep breath and gives Lu Han's hand a gentle tug. He hasn't quite recovered from the match yet, but he has enough energy to pull Lu Han in, press their bodies together when he circles his other arm around Lu Han's waist. Lu Han is more pliant during mornings, after a bath, but fresh from a win he relents without a second thought. Lu Han leans in until their lips touch and their linked hands are forgotten. Yixing licks at the seam of Lu Han's lips, teasing until Lu Han opens his mouth. He licks the back of Lu Han's teeth, traces lazy lines on the roof of Lu Han's mouth with his tongue. Lu Han makes a small sound of appreciation muffled by the slide of their mouths. The soft tremble of Lu Han's thighs on either side of him makes him shiver, sending a sizzle of heat rolling down his abdomen, and he pushes Lu Han down on bed in a split-second decision.

From where he is, Lu Han's lips look so plump and inviting. He helps himself to another kiss even as Lu Han mumbles, "Eeew. You stink."

"You still like me, though," Yixing replies between chaste kisses.

Lu Han pulls back, holding Yixing from half an arm's length. He's has that crazy look on his face where the corners of his lips are tugged up too much. "Too much," Lu Han replies soon after, voice dropping to a whisper. This is his ugly-pretty look. Yixing's never been happier to seen his ugly smile.

"Got a problem with that?"

Lu Han slides his hands down, settling on Yixing's waist. "A big, big problem."

Yixing moves closer, sliding his knee between Lu Han's legs. Lu Han slips his hands beneath Yixing's shorts and pulls them down with a swift tug. Yixing seethes at the sudden cold, cool air prickling his skin, but Lu Han's warm hands ease him into the sensation. He brushes his knee against Lu Han's crotch and Lu Han chokes on his humming. Lu Han rolls his hips, erection rubbing against Yixing's warm knee, and Yixing tries to match his pace. The friction is enough to get Lu Han hard and begging for release, but Yixing won't let him win yet – no match is without a challenge. There's no fun in achieving victory too easily.

"Please," Lu Han whispers. Light catches on his eye lashes. His cheeks are flush with heat and his hands are scrambling for purchase on Yixing's bare thighs, and Yixing shivers when Lu Han's nails dig into his skin as he bucks his hips again. "Please touch me, come on," Lu Han says as a request, voice soft like he isn't sure if _this is okay._ "Yixing, I need you to touch me."

Yixing chuckles and gives Lu Han's cock a rub through his shorts before tugging at the waistband. "You missed me that much?"

"If I say yes, what will you do?" Lu Han asks, _says._ His eyes have regained focus but he's having trouble committing to it, gaze darting from Yixing's eyes to his lips. Yixing's throat tightens. This can't just be the work of fatigue or the warm press of Lu Han's body against his.

"I'll fuck you until you have to sit out tomorrow's practice session," Yixing whispers right back. Lu Han grins. His smile is bright and blinding.

Yixing tugs Lu Han's shorts down all the way, revealing hot, pink skin. Lu Han's legs are smooth, slender, sort of go on forever, and Yixing marvels at them before spreading Lu Han's legs apart. The first time they did this was back in high school, in the showers, and Lu Han had his arms around Yixing's waist as he jerked them off at the same time. They're much older now, wiser, but Yixing hasn't lost that sense of wonder yet, like he feels Lu Han might slip away anytime and dissolve into blood and sweat, taken away by tennis. Feeling more confident, he dips his head, presses a light kiss to the tip of Lu Han's cock before licking circles on it. Lu Han's breath hitches, but he regains ground, clamping his thighs on Yixing's head. "I'm not going anywhere," Yixing says around Lu Han's dick. Lu Han groans, anyway, bucks his hips, craving contact.

Another kiss on the tip, then Yixing reaches up to squeeze Lu Han's balls. He wraps one hand around the base of Lu Han's cock, then, and slowly parts his lips as he takes Lu Han whole.

The stretch is difficult. Lu Han is huge, uncontrollable, can't be tamed when drunk with pleasure, and Yixing rides the tide with every bob of his head, every light suck and jerk on Lu Han's cock. He busies his other hand with massaging Lu Han's balls and Lu Han ruts into his mouth. "Sorry," Lu Han croaks, and Yixing only laughs around the sensitive skin. The vibrations only make Lu Han reach south and ball his hands into fists in Yixing's hair. The grip doesn't hurt, though, only tight enough to keep Yixing from going anywhere, and Yixing answers in kind by drawing out a long suck, cheeks hollowing out.

Lu Han pushes himself up with his elbows, then, and whispers, "Look at me." Yixing looks up, tongue flat against the underside of Lu Han's cock, and holds his gaze like that. It's getting hard to breathe but they need this, the standstill where both nothing and everything happen. He pushes his tongue forward, as if in acknowledgment. Lu Han's thighs tremble. "Keep your eyes fixed on me."

On court, Lu Han is demanding, too controlling, but in bed he keeps a nice balance between being in control and letting himself be controlled. He massages Yixing's scalp with shaky fingers as Yixing jerks him off with his fist and his mouth. He matches the movement of Yixing's mouth around his cock with light thrusts of his hips, fingers tracing idle patterns on Yixing's skin. "Yixing, I'm–" Lu Han's breathing hitches, and he gaps as Yixing picks up his pace, mouth opening all the way to accommodate. Lu Han's low groans and gasps crawl under Yixing's skin, envelop him with warmth, urge him to go faster, so he draws out one suck after another, chapped lips creating friction, teeth grazing the sides of Lu Han's sensitive skin.

"Yixing–"

One long, enthusiastic suck, and Lu Han's eyes flutter for a moment. A light kiss then suck on the tip of Lu Han's dick and then Lu Han's coming, spilling on Yixing's parted lips. Yixing takes him in again, then, licks his cock until Lu Han's thighs are shaking and his breathing turns ragged. "Fuck, I can't– You're gonna kill me," Lu Han mumbles, but he urges Yixing to come up, anyway, cups Yixing's cheeks and licks the remains of his release on the corners of Yixing's lips.

"Your hand okay?" Lu Han asks once he's come down for it. Yixing has a hand draped across Lu Han's tummy and really, his throat feels too tight with exhaustion and pleasure and words he's been choking down for the longest time, so he only nods in response. Later, he draws figures on Lu Han's exposed stomach – a fish, a bird, a heart – before Lu Han motions for him to lie flat on his back. Lu Han licks the shell of his ear even before he can draw a smiley and whispers, "Let me take care of everything."

"You're gonna bathe me?" Yixing teases.

Lu Han pauses, then licks a stripe along the slope of Yixing's neck, "After we get ourselves dirty again."

Yixing giggles, chuckles, laughs. "Crazy kid–" he says, meaning to say more, but Lu Han's kissing him, swallowing the rest of his words in the warm, open press of his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

[ **japan** ]

 

They arrive in Japan with twin coughs and colds. "I think we're taking this being in sync thing too far," Lu Han jokes when they get past the scanners at the airport, but wheezes halfway through. It's the stark difference in temperature, the quick switch from cool to warm and then fucking cold again that's taken its toll on them, and Yixing's first response is to take out two masks, both in black. Lu Han laughs at the knee-jerk reaction but takes one of them, fingers working on the packaging. Zitao offers to doodle on it with his gold pen just so Yixing and Lu Han don't mix up their masks, but Lu Han only shrugs, laughs-wheezes at Zitao and caps the pen again. Yixing's too busy trying to make sense of the whole tirade with all the medicine he's taken earlier. If he wants to play singles three then he can't take chances – he has to follow the medication he's been given.

He can't let the team down. He can't let himself down.

"I mean, we're basically one person," Lu Han says now when Zitao tries one last time to convince them that doodles on masks are cool. His mask dangles from one of his ears. His entire face is pale, but there's a tinge of pink dusting his cheeks and his nose is too red. Swollen from sneezing and blowing, possibly. Neither of them got any sleep during the flight – Lu Han because he had the back of his hand pressed to Yixing's skin half the time, checking if Yixing had fever, and Yixing holding out an entire box of tissues between them. The fit wasn't comfortable, but it was okay enough for two sick people to get through a flight. It's comfortable enough that Yixing made a habit out of reaching up to stuff Lu Han's nose with rolled tissue. Lu Han, affronted but tickled with laughter, did the exact same thing.

Yixing reaches out now, peeling some leftover tissue near the tip of Lu Han's nose. Lu Han scrunches his face, inches away, but he doesn't brush Yixing off. "Eeew, are you weeding out snot from my nose or something?" Lu Han asks. He grimaces, but it's mostly for show – the eye smile isn't fooling anyone, and it's definitely not fooling Yixing even in his most medicine-high state.

"And you're welcome, Lu Han. You won't have to deal with airport pictures of you with tissue stuck in your nose," Yixing mumbles. He makes a show of disinfecting his hands in front of Lu Han, slowly uncapping the bottle of hand sanitizer. Zitao finally gives up convincing them to take him up on the doodles offer. Lu Han exhales loudly, shoulders slumping, the corners of his lips pulling up a little.

They step out of the gates of the airport and in comes Narita's cool December air. The wind tousles Lu Han's hair, softens the hard edges of his cheeks. His face takes on a light flush and right here, in this light, from where Yixing is, Lu Han doesn't look so sick. If anything, he looks like a commercial model, endorsing a nasal decongestant brand or maybe KoolFever. The goofy grin ruins everything. It makes Yixing's insides turn.

Yixing means to snort, but instead he ends up sneezing.

"We are so fucked," Lu Han says, voice lilting in mock enthusiasm.

Yixing holds out a hand, as if in a high five, and humors Lu Han. "We're fucking and we're fucked. I don't know if that's a good combination."

Lu Han cocks an eyebrow at him, like he's considering sharing his opinion on that statement, but he keeps his lips pressed together. If he ever makes his thoughts known, he only hooks an arm around Yixing's own, drags him to the van and rests his head on Yixing's shoulder as soon as they get settled.

Three countries, close to two weeks, too many hours of practice after, and still Yixing can't get the right word for this down. They're not just a 'thing' anymore, one that started with an innocent question back in high school – _why? Why do you fool around with Zitao? Why him? Why not me?_. A 'thing' doesn't fuel you to do better in the game and in life, doesn't influence your playing style and convince you, even only for a split-second, that doubles is worth considering. A 'thing' doesn't just last up until five years after, two years of being limited to no contact and another two spent in rehab, nursing a torn ACL. This 'thing' isn't supposed to last until the next decade if it isn't more than just sharing beds and making sure they're playing good tennis. So they're not a 'thing'. They're in Japan and they're not home, but it sure feels like it. Even the dull ache in his shoulders from where Lu Han has dozed off feels a lot like home.

"You're doing that thing again," Lu Han mumbles out of the blue. Yixing's convinced that Lu Han's only half awake, but Lu Han threads their fingers together and nope, this doesn't feel anything like _half awake._ "Where you get into this heated discussion with your brain–"

"Shut up. Get some sleep."

"I can't. Your mind's too noisy." Lu Han cranes his neck, and Yixing feels the hovering warmth, Lu Han's breath hot against his skin. "So _you_ shut up."

Yixing looks around for an audience. Zitao's asleep on the other end of their row, and Chang, Del Potro, and Wawrinka are deep in discussion about Agassi's latest endorsement. That, and _these promising kids. Soon, there will be an Asian invasion in tennis, and–_ And Yixing indulges, leaning in to the touch, succumbing to sickness and letting his body win. And Lu Han giggles, the vibrations sending a funny tingle to the tips of Yixing's fingers. And Lu Han falls asleep again not too long after. And Lu Han's soft snoring blares in Yixing's ears and it's his turn to complain about Lu Han's noise.

But he doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, leans his head on Lu Han's own. There's still a few good hours of this land trip until they arrive at their destination.

When he wakes up, his chest feels lighter but his lap feels ten times heavier. He only shakes his head when he sees Lu Han's sleeping figure, head rested on his lap, and flexes his fingers before running them through Lu Han's hair. The tension – in his fingers, his stomach, in his chest – feels good, just the right tightness to aim a nice return to the other side of the court. Lu Han purrs in his sleep when Yixing starts massaging his scalp, and Yixing feels a shiver run down his spine. The sweet spot where the ball bounces off the racket for the perfect forehand. A sure winner down the line after a nice, long rally.

 

 

Agassi escorts them back to their room after lunch and makes sure they're tucked in bed before he leaves. This time, Yixing makes no effort to keep himself from giggling, but the tightness in his throat makes him sputter choked sounds more than anything else. Agassi lets it slide, looks at both of them and says as a warning, "If you so much as try to get to the courts, I am sending you two home." Yixing laughs again, louder this time.

He looks to his side, waiting for Lu Han's cue or Lu Han's ugly laughter, but he ends up with nothing. Lu Han's eyes are fixed on the expanse of space before him, the white ceiling. His breathing is even and steady, almost measured. Yixing takes a leap of faith and slips off his bed to climb onto Lu Han's own. Lu Han doesn't even budge.

"Feeling the meds kick in?" Yixing asks. Only then does Lu Han blink and shift in his position. There's color in his cheeks again, after that short period of paleness, and Lu Han smushes his face, blinks several times before turning to lie on his side. They're close now, so close, like they always are when they're left alone in a room. Years later and Yixing still marvels at the nice shape of the bridge of Lu Han's nose, or how long his eyelashes can get. He can count them now if he wanted to, but instead he fixed his gaze on Lu Han's bottom lip, jutted out.

"Sort of," Lu Han answers. He shifts again, pulling the blanket up with his foot. "I guess I'm just extra paranoid when my body fails me. Coughs, colds, tennis injuries – they're all the same now."

Yixing snorts. "They're not. You can recover from colds and coughs."

"And you can't when you get a nasty injury?" Lu Han holds up his right hand, spreading his fingers out when he shields his eyes with the palm of his hand. "I'm here now. I'm playing. I injured my wrist before I tore my ACL. I've recovered."

"No need to get defensive, kid."

Lu Han huffs, but the frustration is mostly for show. Slowly, he rubs his leg against Yixing's own. Lu Han toes are cold, and they send a tingling sensation to the tips of Yixing's fingers when Lu Han draws lazy figures with his big toe. "The injury has already taken away so many things from me," Lu Han begins. "A nice ATP ranking at the start of my career, my _very_ career, my dreams–" Yixing holds his breath, keeps his lips pressed together as he waits. "It's like life's telling me I can't have all these nice things all at once. Like I have to wait for some part of my life to fuck up before I get something good again."

"Maybe because you think that way," Yixing whispers. "Purposely screw things up to find the beauty in things."

Lu Han cocks an eyebrow at him. This is his _really, now? Really, Zhang?_ look. It can also be his _you can't have me memorized this well, not after so many years spent apart._ He doesn't say anything, only worries his bottom lip until he clears his throat. Yixing watches the gentle bobbing in Lu Han's neck before looking up again at Lu Han's lips. He hovers for a second, contemplates putting the right words in Lu Han's mouth, but pulls away.

"I didn't purposely tear my ACL, just saying."

Yixing exhales loudly. "I didn't think you were _that_ stupid."

"Just a bit slow," Lu Han confesses before leaning in to capture Yixing's lips between his own.

They're still sick and contagious and maybe it isn't sanitary to kiss someone who has been sniffing and cough for the past few hours, but Yixing doesn't mind. This warmth, Lu Han's lips hot and wet on his skin, is the kind that lulls you to comfort, lifts the fever and eases the tightness in his throat. It's a crazy cure that Yixing won't recommend others to try because Lu Han is a disaster waiting to happen. A ticking time bomb, maybe. It just so happens that Yixing's rather skilled in detonating bombs. That, and Lu Han's a toy bomb disguised as something lethal. The best Lu Han can do is to scare people, but for the most part he's that favorite toy of yours that you keep coming back for.

Lu Han is that point you can't seem to win at such a crucial time, but then Lu Han has never been his opponent. This game of theirs, it isn't the type of be played against each other. They're supposed to be playing this match alongside each other. Lu Han's like a phantom limb, Yixing's left arm that can actually aim much better shots to the opponent's court. And Yixing is the guiding hand on Lu Han's own, urging him to swing his racket forward, hit the ball without fear because nothing bad ever comes out of a good swing.

Yixing pulls away, turning to his side to cough, and Lu Han jabs him in his gut. "You're disgusting," Lu Han tells him, but he has trouble trying to be convincing. He keeps leaning in for chaste kisses, the soft press of his lips to Yixing's top lip, the corners of his mouth, his chin. 

"What if we play doubles?" Yixing says when he catches his breath again.

Lu Han stops, looks at him, really pulls away this time. One hand is balled into a fist and the other is on Yixing's chest. He can feel Lu Han's pulse through his shirt, the tiny beat on Lu Han's palm that grows stronger as the smile on Lu Han's lips blooms into a grin. It's a crazy look that matches the crazy idea because they've promised each other, years ago, to meet at Centre Court in Wimbledon, not walk there together. The promise was to keep the rivalry alive, keep 'home' in sight so that there's something to look forward to at the end of every match. Something to work hard for. Every win comes with the chance to go back home and indulge in a few moments of respite. If they walk together to the court now, there's no turning back. Soon, they'll be too old to hang onto their grand slam titles and younger people will take over their spots. They won't have a chance to switch from a singles playing style to a doubles dynamic so easily anymore.

"You're crazy," Lu Han replies. "You know that, right?" He doesn't say, _no, that's a crazy idea._ This is Lu Han letting Yixing take the wheel this time instead of saying, _this is the road we have to take. We have to stick to it. You don't have a choice; you're stuck with me._

Yixing chuckles. The small sound gets swallowed by the press of Lu Han's lips on his, soft and tentative. "Crazy enough to be Asia's number one."

Crazy enough to part his lips and let Lu Han take over just after Lu Han has given him control of things. Crazy enough to surrender. Crazy enough to think, for so many years, that this is a match to be won and not a match that he should be playing with Lu Han.

Crazy enough to snake his arms around Lu Han's waist and pull their warm bodies close together. Crazy enough to laugh at the onset of Lu Han's ugly laughter.

"I guess 'doubles' can be our forever," Lu Han says in his most dramatic tone later, when they're lying flat on their backs. Maybe Lu Han should take on some acting jobs after they retire from tennis. He'd make a good male lead in sports films. Tennis never leaves you, after all, haunts you in your sleep and every moment of your life.

"Doubles?" Yixing asks.

Lu Han cackles, but he manages to salvage the moment. "Doubles."

Lu Han finally cracks, erupting into a peal of laughter, and Yixing follows suit. The clawing sensation at the pit of his stomach dies down to a familiar sizzle. Like a slow-brewing happiness waiting to explode. A tie-breaker that has stretched past the thirty-minute mark and will finally, finally be decided with a nice, clean serve to the other side of the doubles court.

 

 

Team China's idea of teamwork is walking to the courts to watch Team Japan's match with Team Philippines while sporting a cold. Agassi and Wawrinka have been spared from coughing, at least, but even they are sniffing every few seconds. Zitao has bundled himself up in at least three layers of clothing, and Chang keeps rubbing his hand together in an effort to keep himself warm. It's Del Potro who's been hit with the sickness the worst, having to sit out watching the match, but Yixing and Lu Han come a very close second. Lu Han uses the colds as an excuse to stick closer to Yixing, keep their thighs pressed together, side to side.

"I don't think body warmth from being sick counts as a form of comfort," Yixing mumbles. Lu Han shrugs and only moves closer, wrapping his scarf around his neck tighter. Oddly enough, the warmth does lend a bit of comfort. All for one, one for all, after all. If one of them goes down with the sniffles then so must the other. It's not a sacrifice; it's part of their duty.

"We're turning in early tonight," Agassi declares. He sniffs again, reaches for the box of tissue that Wawrinka's hugging close to his chest. "So that we can at least try to win tomorrow."

"Put Del Potro in singles one," Chang mumbles. "He looked like a sick reindeer earlier with his red nose."

Wawrinka snorts. "We all look like reindeers."

"We need a Santa," Zitao offers.

Lu Han groans and works on his scarf again, wounding it around his neck differently this time. "We need an intervention."

An intervention, as it turns out, is shocking the shit out of Team Korea with their reworked match assignments. Del Potro's in singles one since the poor guy is still nursing a cold, and Chang has taken over singles two. Zitao is in singles three and psyching himself as early as now , talking to his reflection on the mirror. Agassi and Wawrinka are teaming up for the very first time to play doubles. This leaves Yixing and Lu Han with doubles two that they can very well bail out of, but Yixing had said to himself then, why the hell not? Lu Han hasn't ever screwed up his game yet, and Lu Han knows how he moves across the court. Playing alongside a familiar presence should be doable – a challenge, but feasible nonetheless.

"Doubles two, though?" Lu Han asks when he looks at Agassi over his shoulder. Yixing cranes his neck to look over Lu Han's shoulder and Agassi's pale face comes into focus. He looks as miserable as 'miserable' can get – red nose, hooded eyes, deep eye bags, the whole shazam. The only indicator that he's at least strong enough to move around is the way he holds his racket.

"You'll stir shit and win the match," Agassi mumbles as a vote of confidence. There's a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth now, and Yixing gives his shoulder a few pats. "Besides, if you even fuck this up–"

"–which won't happen."

" _Of course._ " Agassi laughs a little. "Just… Just know that you're playing tennis to have fun, not to beat the crap out of the opposing team. The real victory is in the thrill of the experience."

From a corner of Yixing's eye, he sees Lu Han cocking an eyebrow. "And seeing the weird facial expressions during play."

Agassi cackles, but for the most part what comes out is strained laughter. "Careful with Choi. He makes the funniest forehand faces. Makes it hard for his opponents to concentrate on the ball."

Lu Han flashes two thumbs up and waves at the team before proceeding to take their place on the court.

The walk to the court is silent, but that can be because their throats feel too tight that talking has become a chore. Lu Han's humming a tune under his breath, though, like that would soothe his nerves. Yixing's only kicking at imaginary pebbles on the ground, tiny pieces of their haunted past that have converged today to remind them of who they are. Who they _were,_ at least, back in high school – two scrawny kids who played the sport for the love of it. Yixing's drive stemmed from the fact that he'd grown up with tennis all his life and he wanted to meet another kid who'd tell him, someone who'd tell him that, _hey, you changed my life with your tennis. You're an inspiration. Can I get an autograph?_ Lu Han's drive stemmed from his desire to get ahead, be better, be the best he can ever be. Competition was Lu Han's lifeblood; now, his oxygen is the mere fact that he can play tennis after suffering a nasty injury.

It's funny what four years can do to people, the realization that traveling with the same person from one country to another can bring. This is it, Yixing tells himself, this is the last match. This is _their_ match where they'll finally settle the score against life. 6-6 all now in the final set. It's a fight to the death.

"Doubles?" comes Lu Han's cheeky voice. He's wearing that ugly grin of his again. Yixing's never been more fond of that smile that makes Lu Han like a tragic misrepresentation of himself in a manhwa.

"Doubles," Yixing replies. He holds out his racket, waiting for the sound of it clashing against Lu Han's own. When it does happen, he shivers a little. His insides turn as he steps on court, one other person following him like a shadow. _Doubles,_ he repeats to himself until the word becomes easier to get used to. He repeats it like a prayer in his head, in Lu Han's voice, until he hears it in his own.

Korea takes the opening serve for the set. They're up against the Kim-Choi pair today, the team that has occupied the world number two spot for two consecutive years already. Yixing has already seen them play a couple of times, and on all occasions they'd won in three straight sets. Easy wins, all of them 6-2, 6-3, 6-3, like they're simply counting down to when their opponent will finally rouse from their sleep to give them a good enough match. Rumor has it that they do this 'mental tennis' during a match. Yixing thinks they're just trying to one up each other. If these two are the same people he knows from high school then the match won't be easy. Kibum's trick shots have always been unpredictable, after all.

Minho fires one service ace after another. They don't even get the time to react and return the shot. An easy 1-0 victory for the first set.

Lu Han takes their team's opening service in the second game. He returns the favor, serving out the entire game to bring the score to 1-1 in the first set. Yixing chuckles from where he is, feet away from Kibum on the other side of the court. He's seen this look before, where Kibum furrows his eyebrows but the rest of his features are smiling, lips quirked up in a display of amusement. They're both aware of the other checking for loopholes, getting accustomed to the other team's playing style, before aiming clean winners down the line. They can capitalize on this moment of leniency and try to confuse the other team with changing styles throughout the set, but after the first set that would have become trite already.

"How are your kick serves?" Yixing asks Lu Han when they cross paths.

"Pretty good. Not as good as yours, though," Lu Han answers, earnest. There's a thin sheen of sweat along the curve of his cheek, but his chest isn't heaving yet. "You want me to use it?"

Yixing nods lightly. "Sparingly. Just on the important points. You don't want them to get used to that."

Lu Han hovers, their wrists brushing against each other. "Cover my ass when Minho returns with a backhand?"

Yixing smiles. "Don't I always?"

Both teams keep their service game, but this time each point stretches past the service and the return. Kibum hasn't changed much, except his shots are sharper now, and the top spin he puts on the ball makes each shot heavier than it should be. It's the combination of the speed and the brute force of the spin that makes Yixing's arms shake when he receives with his backhand, both hands wrapped around the racket now. Lu Han's at mid court, prepared to take the return if ever Minho doesn't go for a drop shot or a smash, so Yixing gives it his all, pours as much energy as he can into getting the ball to the other side of the court. It's a close call – the ball touches touches the tape of the net, teeters for a split-second, and then its hurtling past Minho, hitting the edge of the doubles court before bouncing to the side.

5-5 in the first set now, and Yixing can already feel his wrist hurting. "We need to force him to aim to your forehand," Lu Han whispers come change of service, just before he heads to the forecourt. "Your arm was shaking earlier. You can't let them see that."

"I know," Yixing mumbles. He looks up at Minho and Kibum on the other side of the net, then at Lu Han. "Do you remember anything from out match back in high school? Australian formation?"

"Too common. We need something unorthodox."

Yixing slaps Lu Han on the butt with his racket. "We have to get rid of the singles style or else we'll be playing for five hours. Can't risk it."

What he means is he can't risk losing an arm here in Japan because he can't stay forever, nurse an injury in a foreign land whose language he hasn't mastered yet. He means, _if there's anything we can salvage from our old doubles play then let's do it, right now, because they know our playing style as much as we know theirs._ It's a matter of launching the surprise first and setting the momentum for the succeeding sets. It's a matter of finding the right time to catch Kibum and Minho with their guard down and capitalizing on that single moment of surrender.

"See you at mid court. We can defend the baseline and the net from there," Lu Han says before pulling away. Yixing keeps his eyes on Lu Han's retreating figure and thinks, to hell with tried-and-tested strategy; they'll play with their hearts today and do their best, hope for the best.

Yixing drops one of the balls the ball boy throws at him, then slips the one he won't be using in his pocket. He's aiming for four nice, clean aces, but if Kibum's quick enough to return all of them then maybe he can spare a few more services. He tosses the ball in the air now, slightly to the left, and bends back. Serving with the knowledge that there's one other person on your side of the court who you can potentially injure is one of Yixing's many doubles fears, but he tosses that aside and prepares for when the ball reaches the right height for his favorite serve. He swings forward, then, racket face going from left to right as the strings brush the surface of the ball, creating a nice topspin. He pushes his racket forward, and then the shot's out of his hands, and the ball's making its way to the other side of the court. It lands between Minho's feet, then bounces to the right, hitting the railing of the court. The result is a service ace and Minho blinking several times until he feels his limbs again. No words from Lu Han, just the clash of their rackets and Lu Han's light footsteps. 15-0 in this game, for the first set. Three more points to set themselves up to potentially win the first set at the break of the other team's service game.

Two more service aces, and Kibum finally returns Yixing's service. The topspin is heavy, makes the ball pound on the strings harder than it should when Yixing moves closer to the net and meets the ball in a volley. With both hands on his racket, he swings his arms forward, aiming a backhand to a corner of the court, but Minho gets to it quickly. Minho slides until the ball bounces off the sweet spot of the racket, curving up in a high lob. Above them, the sun glares, and the ball disappears into the blast of light. It's hard to tell where the ball is right now, but still Yixing squints, determined to hit the ball to the other side of the net to keep the point alive.

"Five seconds!" Lu Han yells from a few feet away. Yixing pulls his playing arm back, the face of the racket tilted up a little in anticipation of the ball. Distant whirring, and then the ball comes into focus again, too fast, cutting through the air and speeding to the ground.

Yixing swings forward, hitting the ball in a smash, and lands the ball on the edge of the doubles court. He balls his free hand into a fist, then holds out his racket for Lu Han to hit. Lu Han has a crazy grin on his lips, the type that makes him look 70% teeth and lips and 30% everything else. 100% victory in this match and none of the stench of defeat.

Yixing takes a deep breath, then positions himself at the service box again. One more point to earn then another game, one step closer to winning the set.

He misses his first serve, but the second serve goes in without a hitch. It's a flat serve this time, slower than before but has enough power and speed to make Minho return the service with a double-handed backhand. Lu Han answers the shot with his own backhand aimed at the T, and Kibum returns echoes the move, aiming a backhand return to the other side of the court. Straight shots across the net until Kibum changes the pace, hitting the ball with a forehand to Yixing's left. Not much spin on this one, but Yixing still feels his arm shake a little when the ball makes contact with the racket.

There's an opening at the back just near the corner of the doubles court. Both Minho and Kibum are at the net. Yixing scoffs and aims another backhand to the back, earning them the game 6-5 in the first set.

"How's your wrist?" Lu Han asks as they wipe their sweat before the change of service.

"Could be better, but I'll live," Yixing replies. He transfers his racket to his left hand for a while, then flexes his fingers. He has to force Minho and Kibum to give him forehand returns if he wants to last longer than another set. "Can you take the backhand side after the return of serve?"

Lu Han furrows his eyebrows, but nods in response. "You want me to take the backhands for the time being? Until the last set?"

"They'll notice."

"We can alternate–" Lu Han casts a quick glance at Kibum and Minho walking back to their side of the court. "–and you can take the backhands every other set."

Yixing chuckles. "Sounds fair," he replies. The tight corners of Lu Han's lips loosen a little. "I'll try to force as many drop shots as possible."

Lu Han reaches out with his free hand and cups one of Yixing's cheeks. His palm is warm and soft, put the pinch he leaves on Yixing's skin stings like a motherfucker. "Let's kick some tennis ass!"

Kicking some tennis ass translates well into a break of serve in the last game, earning them their first set victory at 7-5. The ball boys are quick with the towels at the change of court, and Lu Han takes a bit longer than the usual to finish his drink and return to the courts. "They're too good," Lu Han says in confidence while they wait for play to resume. His voice cracks as he enunciates _good_ , syllables drawling like he can't emphasize the fact enough. They're world number whats duking it out with the world number two in gentlemen's doubles tennis. They should be glad they got a first set victory over the two.

"Minho's polished his backhand but his stamina's still laughable. Joonmyun-hyung can play him thrice and only be half as tired as Minho is."

"That's because Joonmyun-hyung has the stamina of 30 twenty-year-old players," Yixing whispers. He looks at Minho from head to toe, spots the slight limp when he and Kibum make their way back to the court. "Deep shots between the feet or near the ankle. We have to make him lunge and put the pressure on the ankles."

Lu Han cocks an eyebrow at him. "You do know that Minho recovers quickly, right?"

"So we should exploit the moment of weakness while he hasn't yet," Yixing replies, grinning. He flashes all of his teeth but regrets it soon after when he feels the sting of the pull at the corners of his mouth. "Don't forget, backhand returns on the odd-numbered sets."

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Lu Han pinches Yixing in his side before pulling away and heading to the service box.

Lu Han's service gets better as the set progresses. His knack for doing aces on the second try pulls his service percentage up and seeps into his first serves, putting Team China ahead in the second set at 4-2. Korea gains footing again at the end of their service game, clinching the game to bring the score to 4-3 in the second. They've been playing close to two hours now, and if they keep playing like this, like they're daredevil magicians who have new tricks to show their audience, the match is sure to stretch to another hour, maybe even two more. Four hours of play isn't something Kibum and Minho are foreign to – they've played Isner and Dimitrov in a tournament for close to five hours and managed to clinch the victory in five tight sets.

So they have to do better, enjoy this match more than Kibum and Minho do. Only then will the long hours cease to feel like sixty long minutes of hitting the ball across the court and hoping for someone's pulse to grow weaker and lose the rally.

Yixing's service game begins with two nice aces, slice serves that don't pack as much punch as his kick serves but stun Kibum, anyway. At the third service, 40-0, Yixing plays differently, tosses the ball slightly to the left so the he can do a better backswing and add more spin to the ball. The contact of the ball against the strings sends a nice shiver down Yixing's spine, pulls up the corners of his mouth just before he lets the ball go and hits a forehand to Kibum's right. The ball almost ends outside the doubles court, but the it touches the last few centimeters of the white line, earning China a much needed 5-3 advantage in the second set. He can see the look of determination on Minho's face, the light quirk of the lip. The furrow of Kibum's eyebrows and the sharp rise of his shoulders at the same time that he inhales.

Lu Han's hand is warm on his shoulder; also, trembling a little after the gentle squeeze on the arm. "Easy on the serves. You can't tire out come the third set."

"That's why I'm switching to the flat and slice," Yixing says. He offers a small smile, then bops Lu Han on the head just lightly with his racket. "Remember what captain said? Just–"

"Have fun, I know," Lu Han answers. There's a but there, just dancing on the tip of Lu Han's tongue, but he doesn't spill. Instead, he sort of slumps, like he doesn't want Yixing to get any closer, more intimate. But he hasn't shrugged off the racket on his head just yet. "I don't know how to have fun anymore. I just know how to win."

Yixing leans back, chuckles at Lu Han's indiscernible gurgling. There's the same Lu Han he met back in high school, the same boy who'd called him 'the closest he could get to home', the same boy who insisted, really insisted, that home isn't where the dick isn't supposed to be. This is Lu Han, compartmentalizing, trying to push his fears to the very back of his mind and store them elsewhere, where they won't pop out out of the blue and make Lu Han ugly. This is _his_ Lu Han, the lighthouse after a long and stormy night at sea. The service box where he has the measurements memorized like the back of his hand – thirty-nine feet away from the net, close to fourteen feet away from the middle of the court. A little over fifteen feet from where Lu Han should be, playing alongside him.

"Race you to the top?" he says, then, when Lu Han hangs his head low. Lu Han eyes snap up, back at him, with a renewed sense of wonder, like he's thinking, _what the actual fuck is this guy saying? We're fighting the same battle, playing the same match! We're–_ "And then we can pick up from where we left off and start kicking ass again, together?"

Lu Han snorts, the corners of his lips turned down in a scowl. "That's the cheesiest line ever," he retorts, but he shrugs the Yixing's racket away now. "We don't need to race to the top. We're already there. We just have to–"

"Keep moving forward."

"We have to stop using lines from movies."

Yixing scoffs. Maybe they can start making their own lines after this match.

They're up by a set to love, 5-3 in the second set. The match has just passed the two-hour mark. Looking at Kibum and Minho now, across the court, he can sense two more hours of grueling tennis, a close match that can stretch up until the fifth set, but they haven't made it this far for nothing. They're not playing alongside each other again after years of being apart just to lose. So Yixing takes a deep breath, bounces on his feet before taking his spot on the service box.

He looks to his side and stifles his laughter. "Doubles?"

Lu Han lets out a loud exhale before turning to face him. The smile on his lips is infectious. It looks a lot like victory.

"Doubles."

 

 

Team Korea takes the third set, 7-5, and fights to stay in the fourth set by keeping serve at every game. Minho has slowed down considerably, but the power in Kibum's serves hasn't diminished a bit. In a pinch, Kibum had managed to convert three break points into a win just by aiming one nice, clean slice serve down the T after the other. Lu Han countered with his own set of serves, precise but not as clean as that of Kibum's. Lu Han has never been the best server, but put him in a tight corner and he'll try hard, really hard, to pull through. The score evens out at 6-6 in the fourth set after Yixing aims a forehand winner to the corner. Minho doesn't even try to run after the ball anymore; he just watches it speed past him, laughs when the umpire awards the point to China.

They've been playing the same match for four hours already, nearing five. Lu Han's breathing is still even, but Yixing can see hints of fatigue in the slump of his shoulders, in the way his cheeks pull down even the corners of his mouth.

"I can take a heavy backhand now, I think," Yixing whispers in Lu Han's ear when they pass each other on court.

He looks over his shoulder, catching Kibum giving Minho's arm a light squeeze. There's a good distance between the teams, but he can make out the way Kibum and Minho's arms shake, Minho clenching and unclenching his fists. They've been playing for a while already, and if you fire one heavy ball after another to your opponent's court in the hope of scoring a winner then your own playing style will wear you out. Yixing has seen this happen to Zitao, has seen how it crippled Zitao and took him out of a tournament, ate him from the inside and out. He's experienced it first-hand. He's not about to witness it happen to Lu Han, not while they're playing doubles.

This isn't a risk he's willing to let Lu Han take.

Lu Han leans back for a while and looks at him, just looks at him, eyebrows meeting in a light furrow. "I'll be on stand by," Lu Han offers, and he reaches up, his free hand settling on Yixing's shoulder. There's a safe distance between them, a few good inches, but Yixing can feel every movement in Lu Han's body, every hitch of the breath, every beat of the pulse in his palms. Every gulp and twitch of the fingers that tells Yixing that Lu Han isn't willing to back down so easily so _please, please, please let me take a backhand for you._ "It's not as if you can just... get rid of me or something, I mean–"

"We're a doubles team," Yixing answers. Not just a thing, but– "A real one, not just two people playing doubles singles-style."

Lu Han's lips quirk up, and then there's that crazy smile on his lips again. He's torn between introducing his racket to Lu Han's face and framing it, right there, where the sunlight hits Lu Han's face _just so_ and makes the ugly smile more bearable. Beautiful.

"So this isn't a one-time thing?"

Yixing laughs a little. "It's never been just a one-time thing."

The umpire calls them back to the court to resume play, and Yixing takes his position at the back of the court.

Three balls in his hand now, the roughest of which he drops to the floor. Yixing takes a deep breath and focuses his eyes on the service line at the other end of the court. Minho looks smaller from where Yixing is, less of a threat and more of a target Yixing has to take down with a nice, clean ace. He tosses one ball in the air, straight up, and swings his arm back in anticipation of the ball. He rarely uses a flat serve for his first serve but this is the perfect time to play mind games. And he's good at mind games. He hits the ball with a forward slicing motion, and the ball takes a nice curving path to the other side of the court. The spin doesn't give it the speed it needs to be an ace, but Minho slides to the opposite direction the ball has bounced off of and misses the return.

Feeling more confident, Yixing goes for a kick serve to clinch the next point. Kibum manages to catch the ball with his racket, but the ball hits the tape of the net just before it crosses over. Yixing holds his breath as the ball teeters on the edge, then exhales when it falls to the other side of the net. 2-0 in their favor.

"Double-handed backhand," Lu Han whispers as a reminder at the change of serve. Yixing nods in acknowledgment and takes his place in the service box, ready to receive Minho's serve.

The fast, heavy serve is to be expected, but Yixing doesn't see the light 'kick' of the ball until it touches the floor and bounces in the direction of his face. He slides to his right, prepared to return the ball with a backhand, and he successfully gets the ball across the net albeit with a weak swing. Kibum's quick to reach the shot, running to the far right corner of the court to return the ball, and Minho takes mid court to cover for the opening. Kibum hits the ball in a lob, and Yixing catches Lu Han's faint muttering as he keeps his eyes on it, waiting for the ball to reach the optimum height for hitting in a smash.

 _Now,_ Yixing says, mostly to himself, and smiles when Lu Han swings his arm forward in a smash. Minho gets to the ball but the ball hits the highest part of the net on its way to the other side of the court. The error gets to Minho, causes him to double-fault on his second serve. 4-0 in China's favor. Three points away from victory.

Yixing grips his racket tight. Fuck the stinging sensation in his right hand right now. They can't lose this match, not when they've already come this far.

Lu Han taps him in the ass with his racket and Yixing feels his fingers again. "I've got this," Lu Han whispers before taking his position at the back of the court. The soft bounce of the ball on the court lends a form of comfort, sets Yixing's heartbeat to a more even rhythm. He holds his breath at the silence, and then he feels his blood pumping again at the sharp sound of the ball hitting the sweet spot of the racket. This isn't one of Lu Han's normal serves, but he knows it well enough for his body to react to the standard return, well enough for his feet to take him a few steps to the left so he can answer the return with an easy forehand down the line.

Kibum gets to the ball and returns it with his own forehand, but he hits it wide, just a few centimeters from the edge of the doubles court. 5-0 with China in the lead. A few more minutes with this tingling sensation clawing at his playing hand.

 _Just one ace,_ Yixing says in his mind again and again. _One more ace and then we can break them on their serve._

But it doesn't happen. Lu Han does a kick serve but Kibum returns it with just as much power. The ball skids off the court and they can only stare as the umpire awards the point to Korea. Kibum gets two aces after that, bringing the score to 5-3 in the tie-breaker, and Minho pulls him in for a quick embrace at the change of the serve. The furrow of Lu Han's eyebrows has deepened and the corners of his mouth are pulled down, but the determination in his eyes hasn't faded. It's just a matter of knowing how to play in this condition, being at 5-3 now after pulling away with a five-point lead just minutes ago.

So Yixing calls out, "cover for me!" before he retreats to the back of the court to serve. On the other side of the court, Kibum flashes his biggest grin, like he's saying, _really? You're functioning as a real doubles pair now? Are you kidding, Zhang?_ So he doesn't get even – he gets ahead, cracks his neck as he dribbles the ball while he prepares to serve.

 _Don't let me down, lucky serve,_ he tells himself. He releases the ball slightly to the left, pulls his arm back, and swings from left to right.

The tension in the slide of the ball against the strings of the racket is like a flame creeping up his arm. He can feel the stretch in his hand, wrapping around his wrist and then traveling all the way up to his shoulders, but he releases the ball anyway, the perfect sound of the ball leaving the sweet spot of the racket restoring the feeling in his fingers. The ball lands a few inches shy of Minho's feet, and Minho misses the return, hits the tape of the net when he tries to aim a forehand to Yixing.

The crowd erupts into a flurry of cheers but Yixing doesn't let his guard down yet. There's another point to be won and the sun's glaring at them, testing their patience. The noise dies down and Yixing starts to dribble again, slower this time, like he's making sure he's doing everything right. He gives the ball in his hand a light squeeze before tossing it in the air, the same way he's done every single kick serve he's ever served. The ball falls down, inches closer to him. The background goes white. The ball draws nearer. There's the sound of Lu Han's heavy breathing in the distance and the dull ache in Yixing's arm.

 _Just have fun,_ Agassi's voice echoes in his mind. He gulps hard and swings his arm forward, watching the ball cross the net.

And then Kibum takes a side step to return the service with a forehand to Lu Han's side. And then Lu Han hits the ball with a volley, taking the shot even before the ball hits the court. And then Minho's running to the corner of the court in an attempt to return the shot. And then the ball's rushing in Yixing's direction, too fast for Yixing to overthink his next move.

He crosses his right foot over his left and hits a backhand volley down the line, narrowly missing Minho and Kibum's converging figures.

Lu Han turns on his heel and greets him with that crazy grin of his.

The crowd bursts into a wave of cheers as the final score gets muffled by the noise.

Yixing drops his racket to the ground and lets his face fall forward, into the crook of Lu Han's neck, when the scoreboards reflect the score.

"China wins, 7-5 6-3 5-7 7-6(3)!"

 

 

"C'mere," Lu Han says, patting the space beside him. He pulls the comforter down, revealing an untouched are of the bed – cushions still puffed up and without any creases. "Come here. I don't bite."

"I know," Yixing says for lack of anything better to say. He's spent too many nights tangled with Lu Han to know that biting isn't one of his kinks, but this is the first time Lu Han has _invited_ him to bed, given him permission to climb onto his own bed without having to do it because he lost a bet or because he's sick and doesn't have the energy to push Yixing away. Somehow, that's how it's always been with them – Lu Han crashing into Yixing's life, heart first, and Yixing waiting until Lu Han peels himself from his old skin, lets Yixing in. Lu Han would slip in Yixing's sheets and snake his arms around Yixing's waist without preamble, and in the morning Yixing wouldn't be surprised to be met with Lu Han's swollen lips as a morning greeting. So this – Lu Han sending an invitation, making it clear that it's okay, he's okay with this, that maybe this isn't just part of the doubles partnership package – this is new.

Lu Han grabs Yixing by the wrist and pulls him close until their cheeks are smushed together. "Yeah, you don't bite. Just, this–" Yixing mumbles, and soon he's met with Lu Han's laughter as a response.

China won both doubles one and singles three, clinching them first place in the team rankings. It isn't official yet, but Agassi has been keeping count of their win-loss ratio that they know, they just know, that China has this in the bag. Agassi had brought everyone a round of drinks, and while they all wanted to stay for some more chit-chat, they were all too tired to drink more than just one bottle of beer. Lu Han had stayed close to Yixing then, pressed to his side, muttering, "Standard doubles partnership procedure." He means linking their ankles together under the table, threading their fingers together at every opportunity or when Zitao isn't looking. He means this – letting Yixing in and climb on top of him, pin him down on the bed and crush their lips together in a kiss.

Lu Han gives Yixing's bottom lip a gentle nip. Yixing chuckles, pulling away a little, but Lu Han coaxes him to lean back in with his soft lips.

They're slated to return to Korea the following day for the awarding ceremony and a few exhibition matches. The schedule of play hasn't been determined yet, but Yixing's sure he'll be given an evening schedule. On a normal day, it would bother him – the wind always blows stronger in the evening, after all, and given that his playing style involves a lot of trick shots and using a variety of spins, the presence of strong winds during a match will screw him over. But the thing is, he's not playing alone anymore. If he ever screws up, Lu Han will be there to cover for him, take the heavy backhand from the other side of the court and hit it with a volley. Lu Han will be there to fill the gaping holes in his play that he never knew he had. Lu Han will be there, not elsewhere, not waiting at the bleachers for his own singles match.

It's still a bit frightening, the possibility of misfiring a serve to the back of your teammate's head. So they'll practice more, try harder, memorize each other's bodies and movements until they can be each other's second skin. They'll practice until they feel their arms giving away and their knees going weak. And should they fall prey to bad shots, they'll fall together, rise for a comeback soon after. Because that's what teamwork is all about, right? Sharing the pain and then bringing out the best in each other? Fighting back with every inch of your energy and your partner's? Trusting the other not to fuck up and trusting yourself enough to not stop believing in what your partnership can do?

"The biggest boner killer is your mental gymnastics, I swear to God," Lu Han mumbles. He gives Yixing a light punch on the cheek, then adds, "You're really asking for it, aren't you?"

Yixing shakes out of it and blinks, refocusing. "Asking for what?"

"Oh, y'know." Lu Han shrugs, worries his bottom lip, but the smile on his lips lifts the look of disinterest in his features. "Asking me to make you shut up permanently. C'mon, hit me with your wildest kink. Do I have to smack your ass with a racket? Use the balls or something?"

Yixing grimaces, but the laughter tickling his throat has become too much to bear. Slowly, he chokes up laughter, chokes on his own voice. "You are _ruining_ sport."

Lu Han hums and pulls him closer, hands dipping south until he can cup Yixing's ass through his shorts. "You've ruined me. I guess you're just really weird that you still put me back together even after the whole–."

"Shut up," Yixing whispers. He lets Lu Han pull him down, lets Lu Han trap his bottom lip between his teeth in a light graze against the sensitive skin. "You're ruining everything."

He knows this, the part where Lu Han leans back, tentative, searches his eyes for an answer he hasn't even posed a question to. Lu Han's hand is flat on Yixing's stomach, the pads of his fingers cold, numbing. They're limbs on limbs and skin on skin and yet Lu Han's barely touching him, just looking at him, studying the gentle curves of his face by tracing it with his gaze. Back in high school, they probably would've rubbed up against each other in the showers, pushed the other to the tiled wall and jerked themselves off until they both came. They'd wash up after that, but halfway through they'd lose resolve and be pulled back in by the allure of each other's body.

But they're adults now. They're no longer kids. The only thing that has remained is that they're Yixing and Lu Han. They're not just a one-time thing. They've never just been a one-time thing.

"I'm… visiting mama in Gyeonggi-do after the awarding," Lu Han begins. He presses warm lips on the underside of Yixing's jaw, leaves a gentle suck there before asking, "Come with me?"

Remembering this, too, Yixing takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on Lu Han. Lu Han's the worst liar, the worst at bluffing, but he studies Lu Han just to be sure he hasn't missed anything in all the years they'd been away. The same old look, but with a different brand of seriousness – Yixing only sees this when Lu Han's playing tennis, determined to win. There's no hesitation now, not in the way the corners of his lips quirk up at Yixing's soft laughter, or the way the furrow of his eyebrows relaxes. Lu Han's sure of what he wants. There's no second-guessing himself now, no missed opportunities and shots. This is Lu Han aiming a smash to the other side of the court.

"You're feeding me for the rest of the trip."

Lu Han snorts. "Yeah, sure. Mama makes the best porridge."

Yixing chuckles. "That should've been your opening statement."

Lu Han's cheeks lift, along with the corners of his eyes that have begun to crinkle. His lips part in his pretty-ugly grin and shit, the sinking sensation at the pit of Yixing's stomach is back, only stronger now. More frightening. More thrilling.

"So, sex?"

Yixing shakes his head. "Nope. Just making out. We're not fucking after a four-hour match."

Lu Han groans. "That wasn't supposed to be your line."

Yixing lets laughter consume him, still the tossing and turning in his stomach until he can feel his limbs again. This time, he leans in, presses his lips on Lu Han's before Lu Han can say anything stupid again. Lu Han relents, lips parting, and Yixing can feel the slow-forming smile on Lu Han's lips. The stretch stings the corners of his mouth, but it's a nice sting, like one that jolts you back to life after a long sleep. A breath of fresh air after treading a humid, putrid place. The bounce of the ball that matches the thumping rhythm in Lu Han's chest, and the sound when the ball hits the sweet spot of the racket for a nice, clean forehand, a winner to clinch the victory after a five-year-long tie break.

 

 

[ **korea** ]

 

There are a couple of things that come with being a tennis player that Yixing doesn't like at all. At the top of the list: long playing hours and not knowing when a match will be over. other items in no particular order: sore limbs, losing the feeling in his hands (both) after a long match, and shaking knees. Finally, underlined twice but in small text: interviews and press conferences where the media people just love hearing players say the same things again and again.

So when he gets asked, for the second time, if he'll be playing under China in the upcoming 2016 Olympics, he says, "Yes, yes, and yes. There's no other team I'll play for." Two people away, he hears Kibum snort, and he makes a mental note to sock Kibum in the gut later. "China will always be home even if I've stayed in Korea for years. Everything started in China and I intend to pay my country back with an Olympic gold medal."

Lu Han makes a low whistling sound, and Yixing elbows him in his side. "He's playing for China, too," he answers for Lu Han, and the media immediately direct their attention to him. He sinks in his seat and grins when Lu Han mouths at him, _My manager's going to fucking kill you._

It's been a week since they've returned to Korea after the tour, a week since Team China has been proclaimed the winner of the Asia Premiere Tennis League. They spent the first two days of their return coordinating with people from the charity they're helping, and the next two actually paying the homeless children a visit, talking to them and finding out what excites them and keeps them thirsty for life. One of them had said, _because you're my idol, Yixing-hyung,_ and swung a broomstick back and forth until he hit Zitao in the calf. Zitao's knee-jerk reaction was to ball his fist in a punch, but he'd quickly loosened the tight fist of his hand when he saw the child. Then the kid went on to talk about wanting to play tennis, how he was determined to get a scholarship in Whimoon so he could play for Yixing's team, how he wanted to use the exact same racket as Yixing was so he could be the next Zhang Yixing.

"Except you'd represent Korea," Yixing had said then, chuckling. The kid's lips parted in surprise, maybe even embarrassment, and Lu Han picked him up and twirled the kid around even before he could blush even more.

When Yixing first held a racket, he felt this weird sense of urgency to swing it forward. Hit something, anything that might come his way – obstacles. hurdles, the clothes hanging in their backyard because they'd never hit him back, they'd never put up a fight. Then he saw all these legends play – Ivanisevic, Lendl, Sampras, Agassi, Nadal, Federer – and he thought, I could be one of them. I could inspire people some day and be just like them, maybe even better. I'd bring pride to my home land and be known as a national hero for sports. Even without the cape, it sounded exciting. It sounded feasible and possible. It felt like something he could do.

And here he is now, in front of Korea's media, grinning at Lu Han who is now answering questions on his participation in the 2016 Olympics.

"We can do it together," Yixing whispers, facing front, and even if he can't see Lu Han from where he is, he can feel the shift of Lu Han's muscles. They're pressed close enough to each other for Yixing to catch every light movement, the way Lu Han's muscles tense when the media asks him, _We saw your doubles match with Zhang. Are you planning to play doubles now and abandon playing singles forever?"_ Yixing looks to his side, then, meeting Lu Han's steady gaze. Lu Han's eyes ask, _so what will we do now?_ The quirk of his lips, _we're really doing this, right?_ Yixing doesn't say anything, keeps his lips pressed together, but he doesn't fight the smile creeping to his lips, pulling up at the corners and even his cheeks.

He lets out a soft chuckle and links their ankles under the table. Drawing the mic close to his lips, he asks, "Doubles?"

Lu Han snorts, but he leans closer to the mic, eyes trained on Yixing. Yixing thinks, that pretty-ugly smile will be his new harbor from now on. He'll have to get used to it and the way it makes his insides turn, the slow, sweeping motion that tickles his throat. And he'll have to get used to this, too – Lu Han pulling him closer by the ankle under the table, teasing him, testing him, asking him to take the jump with him.

"Doubles," Lu Han answers with finality. The corners of Yixing's mouth pull up in a grin. It matches Lu Han's own. They don't jump, but they do walk to the court – together.


End file.
